


Sound-A-Like

by MariaMediaOverThere



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Denial, Developing Relationships, Dirty Pictures, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Frottage, Funny, Gay Panic, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Open Ending, Porn With Plot, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Slow Burn, Smut, Tags to Follow, The word babygirl gets used a lot, erotic audio, incredibly long, twist ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 54
Words: 64,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6128758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaMediaOverThere/pseuds/MariaMediaOverThere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a tumblr post about "someone who sounds JUST LIKE MARKIPLIER!!"</p><p>...and it follows with questionable sexuality and a guilty crush on your best friend.</p><p>//Inspired by the erotic audio recorder with the Markiplier voice//</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Suspension of disbelief is required. Let's just close our eyes and put ourselves in the AU where Jack is single and they're gay.
> 
> If you want to know what I'm talking about (the Markiplier sound-a-like), you can just google it or look for the link in Septiplier-NSFW.tumblr
> 
> Tell them I sent you
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: FOR THE SINNERS WHO CANT FIND IT YET  
> Soundgasm . net / u / bourbon _ neat
> 
> Ya'll nasty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack regrets going on Tumblr.

Every now and then, Jack would lazily scroll through the tags of his friends on tumblr. Was it considered stalking if they were close friends? Jack wouldn't think too hard about it if it was. After all, answering question after question gets too tedious after a while- not that he's not grateful! The humdrum just needs to be broken now and again.

Somehow Dan and Phil always make their way into everybody's tag and that would be annoying if it wasn't so funny, and even endearing. Jack wondered if he'd ever have a fanbase dedicated enough for his image to permeate almost every nook of the website.

For the past few minutes, Jack has been blankly looking around the Markiplier tag- which was full of hilarious gifs from his recent play through, as well as some cute fanart. Until...

_OH MY GOD HE SOUNDS JUST LIKE MARK. LISTEN!_

Jack furrowed his eyebrow at that. Sitting up on his bed, he surveyed the replies, which were filled with frantic, excited gibberish and eggplant emojis.

Finally, he found a concise reply: _GUYS. This erotic audio user sounds JUST LIKE MARKIPLIER!! It's so hot! You're welcome, sinners._

Jack stifled a laugh. Erotic audio? People have weird fetishes. He briefly pondered if there could be someone in that line of work who could also have an accent like his.

"Nah. I'm one o' a kind." He smiled to himself.

Without even pondering on the moral justification of listening to male porn audio of a man who sounds like one his best friends, Jack clicked on it. The site that loaded up was bare- nothing special. "Soundgasm" showed a long list of... saucy titles. It was only then Jack took the time to realize what sin he must be committing.

"It's research. I bet it's funny." He tried to convince himself. "It's not gay." He said as he clicked on a random title.

_"Oh hello babygirl..."_

The Irishman's blood ran cold.

A few quiet seconds passed by before the unknown speaker started to softly groan. His voice was deep and rich- but with a slight roughness to it. If you hadn't known better, you could honestly mistake it for the blue haired Youtuber.

_"I've been thinking aaalllll day about you, darling."_

Jack gulped. Yep. This sounds like Markiplier. This erotic audio clip sounds like his good friend Mark. This man that is most definitely touching himself and making delicious grunting and mewling vocalizations, indeed sounds like Mark Fischbach.

The gravity of his sins starts to sink in, along with a red coloration on his face.

_"You don't know what it feels like to... to want you. You're so fucking beautif- FUCK. Ugh. I bet you feel so good. You with that tight, beautiful ass. I can't stop thinking about you."_

Jack doesn't understand. He doesn't understand a number of things. One of which is what could be the annual salary of an erotic voice actor? How far is it from a regular porn star? What do you tell your parents?

But more importantly, why is he still listening? This has passed the border of harmless research to creepy-creepiness. Now it's just pervy. Now there's just a hot curling sensation in his gut that he can't quite justify.

Speaking of pervy...

" _I want you. God, I want you. I want to feel you underneath me as I pound into you mercilessly. I want to hear every little whimper and moan you make. Shit, I bet you'll sound so sexy. Do you want my cock inside you?"_

Nope.

Nope nope nope nope.

This isn't happening.

Jack never moved so fast in his life in order to exit that tab. He released a sigh of relief as the sinful rambling of the Markiplier-soundalike ceased. The room was quickly replaced with painful silence as Jack was focused to reevaluate his life decisions.

He shook his head furiously, willing away the thoughts. Tossing in his bed, it's occurred to the Irishman the painful tightness in his pajama pants. Red-faced with guilt and possibly an arousal he refuses to acknowledge, Jack decided to call it a night, begging to forget this all in the morning.

Spoiler alert: he doesn't.


	2. Strike One & Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack doesn't forget his mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strangely being well-recieved. Don't know if that's a good thing.
> 
> Again, I'm active on Twitter as MariaMediaHere, and your feedback is well-appreciated!

So Jack has a problem. He didn't forget. Not really a shocker, I know.

The morning after was the hardest part- still hot with embarrassment, shame, and residual arousal- but not as hard as the consequent days, as his curiosity enveloped him more and more. There were some times that he had tried to dupe himself into believing he wanted to listen to more of that sultry Markiplier-like voice just to "make sure" of its similarity. But even then, Jack couldn't hide the truth in his blank moments.

Jack was gently rolling a few peaches in his hands in the produce section of the grocery to check which he should pick out.  
It was an innocent motion, in the middle of the supermarket late at night (where there are less people to recognize him). But for whatever reason, suddenly the mental image of massaging Mark's balls surfaced itself from whatever dark, unsettling corners of his mind it came from.

If you had asked him, Jack would _not admit_ he randomly squeaked and dropped the peaches at that moment- and yet the strange looks the grocer stacking the apples to his left shot at him had been all too telling.

Flushing a bright red, Jack dug in the pile and got whatever his hand landed on before haphazardly throwing them into his cart and speed-walking away to the cashier.

Jack briefly ponders what sounds Mark would make when his balls are being massaged.

 

That was just strike one.

 

After that experience, Jack never trusted his thoughts anymore. The Irishman worked himself to exhaustion to avoid the vulnerable time before you fall asleep where instrusive thoughts tend to snake their way into consciousness. It's work work work, then sleep immediately after. Sometimes, he wouldn't even make it to his bedroom, and he'd pass out on the floor.

I mean sure, it wasn't healthy... But what else could he do? Sit down and face his feelings?!

No thanks.

 

He couldn't really voice out his existential, gay panic even if he wanted to- which he doesn't!- because he lived alone. Instead, like all his repressed rage, he expressed it in video games.

"FUCKING FUCK YOU, YEH SALTY BITCH. Ye're- Ye're a big smelly! No one likes ya!"

The gamer let out a furious groan as he only narrowly avoided death in this new indie horror game. It wasn't that it was scary, per se, it was that the game FUCKING CHEATS. There's no leeway to get ANYTHING done!

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Jack wondered why anyone would even suggest he play this game in the first place. Ah that's right. Because it's MAKING HIM **RAGE**.

Finally composing himself, the Irishman led his character into a presumably safe hallway only to watch him get viciously mauled by some hellish creature whose scream sounded like a broken washing machine.

"NO! FUCK FUCK! FUCK ME IN TH' ASS. JUS' FUCK ME. JUS' SLAM ME ACROSS A TABLE AN-AND STICK YER DICK IN ME UNTIL I BEG FER MERCY! THEN KEEP FUCKING ME! CUM INSIDE ME FER ALL I CARE, MARK!"

 

A beat. Strike two.

Where had _that_ even come from?

 

Wordlessly, Jack paused the capture and took a few shallow breaths.  
"S-So maybe the whole 'pretend it isn't there' method ain't gonna work..." He said to no one in particular. Then again, when had that method worked ever?

Out of ideas, with his heart still drumming in his chest, he let out a loud, frustrated yell to expel at least some of his pent-up aggression. Steeling himself, Jack resumed the capture and half-heartedly did his outro before turning off his computer and making his way to his bedroom with heavy footfalls.

Flopping onto his bed, the Irishman does a quick glance to the phone on his bedside and finds it's much too early to call it a night. With Jack's unwavering work ethic and erratic sleeping pattern, the lines between days had begun to blur altogether. Something is wrong.

 

Jack shucks his jeans off. He might as well get comfy.

Maybe he's just been keeping it inside too long. Maybe a nice, normal wank would clear his head. Jack remember that porn site wishing him a happy birthday weeks prior and cracks a hesitant smile.

Right. Normal porn. That's what Jack needs.


	3. Too Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gives in and can't do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holla at ya girl if you caught the Australian girl reference.
> 
> The mod of Septiplier-NSFW.tumblr already posted several links for those who continually message them about it. Granted, if you haven't found the soundalike yet.
> 
> PS. "Sound-A-Like" should be "Sound-Alike", but I called it that because it sounds like "Sound I Like" in Jack's accent. I thought it was funny.
> 
> Enjoy, Sinners (TM)

Maybe there's some other alternate universe where shit doesn't hit the fan and Jack is just really good friends with Mark- no sexual tension or fluttery feelings between them whatsoever. Maybe in that same alternate universe, Jack is a complete heterosexual and might even have a hot, foreign girlfriend. Maybe Korean. Or even Dutch. God, he bets she would be beautiful.

The Irishman dismisses the thought. It's just wishful thinking.  
Whether he likes it or not, this isn't that alternate universe. This universe sucks balls.

So Plan Ignore-My-Unexplainable-Attraction-To-My-Best-Friend-Using-Boobs had been a success, and Jack has gladly been able to normally jack it to clearly faked orgasms just like he did before the "incident".

Except it wasn't a clear-cut success.

Every time the unseen, unfocused-on male partner made a particularly loud groan or started to ramble unintelligently, an unsettling feeling started to bubble in Jack's chest. It was because he liked them either. Unlike the Markiplier-soundalike, the sounds weren't remotely appealing to him (not that he'd admit that the soundalike DID, in fact, appeal to him).

Whereas the manly grunts and moans were able to be looked over, suddenly it felt like blasphemy to hear it.

It sounded too fake. Too soft. Too loud. Too practiced. Too high-pitched. Too accented.  
They didn't sound like Mark.

This terrified Jack.

Clicking out of a PornHub tab of some Australian lady jerking it at a public library (isn't that illegal??), Jack knew what he had to do to shake these feelings away. He has to come back to the soundalike.

The Youtuber took his hand off his junk in order to carefully type out his best friend's username in the Tumblr search bar. It wasn't that the aforementioned Australian lady wasn't doing it for him- far from it, exhibitionism was always a sure-fire train ride to Boner City- it's just that all the unnecessary confusion about his stance on his sexuality was killing his vibe (and his erection).

It wasn't difficult to find the link to "Faux-Mark", as he calls him, granted that the Markiplier fandom is still reeling from his discovery. Thankfully too, since Jack had long deleted his browser history the first time around.

"This is your last chance to back out..." He whispered to himself as he unwittingly clicked on a random selection from the titles.

He tossed in his bed and stared up into the ceiling with his phone next to his ear, readying himself for whatever may come.

Kissing sounds. Quiet whimpers. " _B-Baby? Babygirl... What are you doing?_ " A nervous chuckle. " _Why are you tying me up to the headboard? I know we talked about... about tying me up but- FUCK. Oh shit! Baby, yes... Just... Wait wait, no! Don't! Don't pull your mouth back, I... Come on..._ "

Of all the things Jack could have randomly picked...

Why couldn't it be a typical vanilla podcast? Instead it was evidently some sort of bondage, Dom/sub fantasy he was currently hearing- currently imaging to hear from Mark.

Jack swallows a lump in his throat he didn't know was there. His half chub began to spring back into life.

Gingerly, he reached out to wrap his hand around his dick and gave it an experimental tug. A shot of hot adrenaline followed. Yes. This is normal.

At the moment, Faux-Mark was being tortured by his loved with some sort of vibrating sex toy, considering the tell-tale sounds in background accompanied by sweet whimpering and crying. Jack wonders is Mark likes to play with toys.

All at once, the scene played out before him- Mark, tied up, bent over, with a dildo in his ass and tears in his eyes.

When had Jack started pumping so fast?

" _P-Please! This cock is yours! Let this cock come! Please please please please... Oh god, let it come. I need it. I need to- to... Fuck! No, don't do that- ARRGGHHH._ "  
The vibrating sound effects stopped. Only this man's ragged breaths could be heard, coupled with Jack's unsteady exhales and slick fapping noises.

" _Please... I'm begging you. I'll do whatever you want! I'll... I'll eat you out! You'd like that, won't you babygirl? I'll- AAHHH. SHIT. FUCK!_ "

He shut his eyes tighter- wet skin, rough hands, an open mouth- so much imagery was clouding his mind. He swiped his thumb over his tip, only to find the pearly substance had begun to run down his shaft.

Fuck. This is good. Too good. Too guiltily good.

 

Jack stopped the motions of his fist at once. He felt wrong. He was desecrating his friend.

Friends don't fap to the voice of their other friends.  
Still, Faux-Mark continued to make begrudgingly-hot sounds as he was being teased.

 

This is too much.

 

The Irishman closed the tab and lay there in silence. His erection was still bobbing over his stomach but he didn't care. It hurt him some way to do this.

 

Jack brought his hand up to his face to move his green bangs out of his eyes and- oh. When had he started crying?  
He mutes his phone and rolls over to go to a dreamless sleep.

 

 

Meanwhile, thousands of nautical miles away, a blue-haired man wondered why his friend wasn't answering his skype call.


	4. 4 Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack renders a video.

Good news: Jack no longer feels arousal when confronted with Mark's voice.  
Bad news: He feels unbearable shame instead.

After the ordeal with the Dom/Sub podcast 3 days ago, the Irishman had sworn off porn for the time being. To him, his dick was a traitor and his punishment was solitary confinement - but in his jeans. Jack now showers with the lights off because he doesn't even dare look at his penis.

Yes, it's ridiculous, but no, Jack is a stubborn shit.

 

It's been close to 6 hours since Jack has started to edit the onslaught of new gaming videos. For some reason, unresolved sexual tension is a good motivator for commentary. Gladly, the Youtuber remembered to edit out his... R-rated outburst from the last game he played.

But now Jack had a new conundrum- he has too many videos stockpiled. Not that that's specifically a bad thing, but now he doesn't have an excuse for taking some time off.  
The comments have already started to catch on to his increasingly waning energy.  
Twitter, on the other hand, is "JACK. GO TO SLEEP" non-stop.

After clicking "Render", the man leaned back in his seat and focused on the distance. He really should start doing that more often.

 

His eye sight is giving up on him... but it's not the only thing that might be.

Jack confesses it's not the most ethical thing to do, but he's afraid of what might happen if he lets his guard down around his fellow Youtuber.  
He's been ignoring Mark and he knows that Mark is aware.

But how do you explain that? How do you apologize?  
"Hey Mark! I'm sorry that I've been ignoring ya. Every time I hear yer voice, I get super embarrassed because I tried jacking off to it. Yer voice just gets me so fuckin' aroused that I couldn't help thinking of yer bare arse as I fucked my hand. Hearing the moans of someone who sounds like you gets me real horny! But it's not weird 'er anything. I'm not a perv, I swear!"

Jack facepalms. That sounds even stupider than he thought it'd be.  
Losing his friendship with Mark was the least of his worries. He'd be lucky if he didn't put a restraining order on him.

 

Not that a restraining order would be effective. They live so far apart anyways- which is good, but... not good. He's so far away from all the other Youtubers. Wade, Bob, Matthias, and other people like Smosh are beyond his reach.

 

Jack glances at the render timer on his screen: 4 hours. Okay. 4 hours is enough time to sit down and maybe watch a few reruns of One Punch Man or Rick And Morty.

 

...or enough time to find someone to fuck.

The Irishman turns scarlet. No. Wanking it to Faux-Mark is bad enough. Finding someone to satiate his hormones is worse. It's bad! It's immoral! It's not a good example for his fanbase! If the word got out that Jacksepticeye is fond of one night stands, surely he'd die of shame.

Jack thought of all the horrible things that could happen to his career as he put his jacket on and grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter.

Jack thought about what his family will think of him being a crazy pervert as he turned off all the lights and made his way out the door into the night.

Jack thought about his stupid penis as he all but sprinted into the city, desperately searching for the seediest nightclub with the worst interior lighting so that nobody would recognize him.

Jack thought about Mark as he stood in front of a scary-looking bouncer, handing him an entrance fee.

 

Time remaining: 03 hours and 28 minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I, myself, don't know where this story is headed.


	5. Pink Nails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it won't be too sad. Just a little bit more establishment, and I swear things will become funny and sinful again.

Nervous doesn't even begin to describe himself as he stands awkwardly at the corner of the nightclub. What made Jack even think that getting a rushed, sloppy lay was going to fix all his problems? Gladly, the jacket he yanked off his chair had a hood, and he could low-key hide in the corner.

A sea of sweaty, grinding bodies were before him and the scent alone would cause a devout Christian to gag. Jack wonders if it's too late to get a refund on his entrance fee.

 

Ever since Ireland passed the bill for Same-Sex Marriage (hallelujah), the need for exclusive gay bars was no longer required; homosexual couples were now free to inappropriately touch each other in the same room with the heterosexual ones.

Sure, that was great, but as Jack watched two men getting it on from the corner of his eye, his temptations only grew more lascivious. Perhaps if he drank enough alcohol, he'd spontaneously combust and all his sins would burn away with his flesh. Jack downed another shot of whiskey.

 

Pushing the empty shot glass away from himself, Jack took the opportunity to survey the other people that sat alongside him at the bar. There were a few cute girls lined up, but they were obviously a close-knit group of friends, and Lord knows what fury gal pals have when some skeez tries to break someone away from the pack.

There were a few couples sharing heated glances over drinks and some pretzels adjacent to him, and a couple bros intensely watching some sport on the static-y television set overhead. All in all- the number of possible people Jack could fuck was 0.

He wrinkled his nose. He must sound like such a pervert. Jack takes the time to curse David Karp for creating Tumblr.

 

Finally, his eyes settled on a pair of brown Asian ones.

 

A Thai, or maybe Korean man sat near the corner of the counter, playing with the mini umbrella of his drink. Jack drinks his image in: a soft face, unperturbed with facial hair, slick black hair, and... pink nail polish on his delicate digits.  
Those digits traced the rim of his glass with effortless grace, the motion was almost hypnotizing. In a moment's stupor, Jack looks up from the person's hands to find those brown eyes piecing into him.

If you squinted, you could pretend it was Mark from 2009.

 

Jack shook head violently. What as he thinking?! Perving on a person who looks like his best friend?! Who might as well be a minor too?!?  
It was blatant by the way this guy was looking at him- added with his bright pink nails (not that straight guys can't wear nail polish!)- that he might think Jack was coming onto him. He's young. They're tipsy. The situation was vulnerable.

 

It was new low- one that Jack refuses to sink to.

The bartender slid a cold glass of some frilly drink in front of him. "Um..." Jack said dumbly.

 

"Blowjob." The gruff bartender said, his Irish accent thicker than his.

 

Jack blinked twice.

 

The man rolled his eyes. He pointed to the drink, "This is a Blowjob drink. Compliments of that fellow." The bartender thrust his thumb over his shoulder.  
Jack didn't have to follow where he was pointing to know who that drink came from.

This has gone too far. Jack had to go up to him. He had to apologize for the misunderstanding. He had to thank him, but be firm in his rejection. He had to right his wrongs and go home, and finally- finally talk to Mark.

 

Time remaining: 02 hours 17 minutes

The Irishman was pressed against the wall of one of the club bathroom cubicles with a pair of lips sucking hickies to his neck. He moaned at the touch. Pink nails ran down his back.


	6. The Way I Look At You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason, my baby.
> 
> Comment, you guys! I need feedback to help me lead is story! Don't be shy! I need this.

"Who is Mark?"

Jack pulled away as if he had just gotten burn. He stared at Jason- that was his name- with a mix of confusion and scandalization on his face.

"You said his name just now." He said in a voice that was too soft, too smooth. Thankfully, he didn't seem miffed, he actually looked bemused.

Jack could feel his neck go hot. Had he really just moaned Mark's name while he was getting his skin marred by a random stranger with pink nails? "I'm... I'm sorry. I don't-"

Jason placed a gentle finger to the Irishman's lips to silence him. "You don't have to get defensive. I don't really care." He punctuated how much he didn't care by running his tongue up Jack's jawline. "Tonight, you can call me whatever you want."

Time remaining: 02 hours and 03 minutes

 

"Stop."

"Uh...?"

"No. I don't- I'm sorry. I can't."

"Don't worry, I'm 18... I had my birthday last week, and-"

"N-No! That's not it! I mean, I'm glad that ya are... I just. I'm not..." _gay? Confirmedly gay? Sexually attracted to you? In the right mind?_ "ready."

 

The Asian pulled away with visibly annoyance. But at least he pulled away. "Is it because of this 'Mark'?"

"No!" _Yes._

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" _No._

Jason huffed, putting his hands on his hips and surveying Jack up and down. Suddenly, Jack felt vulnerable all of a sudden under his prying gaze.

"I can't say I'm not disappointed."

Jack felt shitty. He'd hurt more people than he was supposed to. "I..."

Jason threw his arms in the air, "And you looked at me with so much love too!"

"What...?"

"I saw you look at me from across the bar. You looked at me like- like I was precious. I've only experienced someone look at me like that when my ex was about to kiss me in 6th grade. It was also... I don't know. Hungry? Like you needed me... Like I was so valuable to you. I- I thought it was love at first sight."

There was a dull pang on the Irishman's chest. If that's the way he'd been looking at someone who blatantly reminded him of a younger Mark, then...

Jack goes pale.

 

Being sexually attracted to Mark was a while other ball game compared to loving him.

But of course he loves Mark, Jack argued; they're friends. They have each other's back. It's just that Jack would prefer Mark's back was pressed up against his chest with his sweet round ass grinding against his crotch-

 

Jack must have blanked out because Jason was snapping his fingers in front of his eyes impatiently. "I'm sorry." Jack blurted out. "I never meant for this to happen..."

The young man in front of him leaned back against the opposite wall of the small cubicle. "Yeah. Shit happens. I'm sorry too. I must have been too forward."

 

Jack, now wrought with unbelievable guilt, thinks for a second. Had he always been looking at Mark that way? If he had, why hadn't Mark noticed? Why hadn't **anyone** noticed if-

Oh. The Septiplier fandom. Jack understands now.

 

There's a few seconds where he just stares. Memorizing Jason's face, the Youtuber compares it to Mark's, which he had memorized so fondly. His eyes, although still brown, lack the depth that his friend has- the little wrinkles at their corners are absent. Jack mulls over this and wonders for how long had he been in love with Mark Fischbach.

 

Without a moment's pause, Jack wraps his arms around Jason in a tight hug. "I'm sorry." He repeats.  
He keeps repeating that phrase as he made his way out the cubicle, past raised eyebrows, past the dancing mobs, and homebound.

 

He needs to talk to Mark.


	7. Like Nothing Changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting back on track.

"Well look who it is!" Mark says with a chipper tone. He crosses his arms over his chest. "I didn't know how much longer you were gonna avoid me."

Jack sheepishly grins. Now was not the time to let his nerves best him. It took everything he had not to fling himself across a ditch on the way home.  
"Aw, you know I can't stay away from you." It's taken a grand total of 25 minutes before Jack had the courage to open his Skype window. By now, his 4 hour timer had finished.

"Damn straight!" Mark slams his open hands on the desk with a laugh.

Laughing. That's good. That's familiar. Somehow, it was like nothing changed between them. Maybe his gay panic had been unfounded and it's all just a misunderstanding.

 

"I've just been..." _coming to terms with loving you_

Ah. Maybe it's not misunderstanding.

 

"busy." Jack finishes dumbly. When had the room gotten so humid?

Those Asian eyes- Mark's eyes- not Jason's or anyone else's, dart around. "Obviously."

 

He cocks an eyebrow at that. What could he mean by that?

 

Mark takes his index finger and points it at the side of his neck. Jack follows his gesture to-

**oh Jaysus**

 

"I think it looks good on you, those hickies." Mark begins with a rumbling purr. "Is that why you've been M.I.A.? Because you were getting it on recently? Tsk tsk."

Of course Mark is teasing, but Jack can't help the way his body temperature rockets. He should have looked at himself in the mirror first. Why the fuck would you make out with a stranger right before skype-calling someone anyways?!

 

He pulls up his collar instinctively. "It's- It's not what ya think!" Had his voice just gotten squeakier? "I was..." _actually, I **was** getting it on with someone. It's jus' that I let this someone get it on with me because he looked a lot like you._ Jack shut his mouth.

Mark puts up his hands in surrender. "Save me the details. I couldn't care less about where you stick your ding-a-ling in." He snickers to himself.

 

Great. Now Mark thinks he's having a satisfying sexual relationship. Truth be told, he couldn't be farther from it. The Irishman leans back in his chair in defeat. This could have possibly been the worst idea ever, right next to opening the link that started this mess.

 

Mark laughs at the look of utter despair etched on Jack's face. "Jack, don't worry about it. It's not important to me. You know nothing you do could repulse me."

Jack scoffs at that. "Nothing? I doubt that." His chest lurches as the thought of Mark finding out his sick inclinations.

 

"Promise! You could be into some weird, kinky BDSM shit and I'd be a-okay!"

The randomness of the statement makes Jack laugh. It's the first time has in a while. "Um, thanks?"

"On the condition of course, that I get to join." Mark winks and it almost gives Jack a stroke.

 

"How exactly does that work?" It takes all his willpower not to stutter.

Mark brings up his hands to demonstrate: "Well first you stick the pee-pee into the bum hole, and then-"

"I MEAN WHO'S THE THIRD PARTY!"

Mark stops the lewd motions of his hands. "I don't know. Whoever you're currently getting a piece from? Oh! Oh! Or could I pick? How about Yami? Matt?"

The Irishman gapes at him. "Matthias?!"

"What?! No!" Thankfully, the American looks equally appalled at the mention of the soon-to-be-father's name. "I meant Matt, my editor!"

 

Jack smiles- weak but sincere. "I don't think Matt's my type."

"He'd be real disappointed. He talks about you a lot."

"Yeah?" Why had he sounded so breathless?

"About how stupid your accent is. I join in."

"Yer a bag of dicks."

 

Jack clucks his tongue to catch Mark's attention, since he's too busy laughing to himself. God, it's infectious- he feels the corners of his mouth turn upwards without his permission. "ANYWAYS... It's a "No" for me. Matt is too... too twink-y for me."

 

The blue-haired man attempts to stifle his laughter as he haughtily raised a brow. "Takes one to know one."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He furrows his eyebrows.

"Exactly what you think it does, Twink McGee."

Jack puffs out his chest. "I ain't no twink!" His face is hot. Whether from irritation or embarrassment, he wouldn't know. "I'mma- I fucking, I'm straight up commander-sergeant-general in the bedroom!" He emphasizes his point by flexing his plus-one bicep.

"Uh-huh. Fumbling over your words really shows how dominant you are." He rebuffs dryly with a shit-eating grin that Jack just wants to kiss off his face.

 

His heart stills. A moment of silence is shared as the laughter dies out and the two are just blankly looking at each other's face on the screen.

 

 

"I'm sorry."

"For...?"

Jack chews on his lip. "Avoiding ya." _and fapping to your soundalike_

Relief washes over Mark's face. "It's no problem!" He throws his hands up in the air- a gesture he'd seen Jason do just earlier that night. "Don't let Markimoo get in the way of your dick getting wet."

Stunned, Jack guffaws unabashedly, as if the previous few days of stress and internal turmoil just weren't there anymore. Mark joins in the laughter (had he always been so keen to laugh?) and Jack looks at his happy face as if it's the first time he'd seen him.

 

The hickies that purpled his neck now seemed to sting with some sort of betrayal. He unconsciously turns his collar up even higher. One thing is for sure: Jack has to do whatever it takes to make things normal with Mark again.

 

 

Even if it means giving in to temptations.


	8. Almost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huehuehuehue.....

" _Don't cum! Don't cum until I say so! Do you understand? Do you... D-Do... Hey! Answer me!"_ a resounding smack. " _I asked you a question. You're not going to come until I say you can, alright? Alright..."_

Jack pulls on his sheets.

" _I'm gonna count to 10, and then- AND ONLY THEN- will I let you come. Got it? ...Ha. Look at you. So desperate. Are you ready?_ "

Jack nods his head to an empty room.

" _10... 9... Unf! Yeah, that's right... Push those hips back on my cock! Yes, baby- 8..._ "

The Irishman whines needing, bucking his own hips into his slick fist. "Y-Yes..." He mewls. It almost didn't sound like his own voice. However, his shame was buried with layers of absolute, although temporary, bliss. Jack tries not to dwell on it.

The pleasure must have somehow completely phased him, because by the time Jack comes to, Faux-Mark is on 3.

Blurred scenarios flit across his mind- Mark, laying on his back, underneath him, with sweat beading across his forehead." _2... Ar-Are you ready, babygirl? Are you ready for me? HNNNGGG. Shit. Can you feel me throb? Do you like how my fat, throbbing cock feels inside of you? Oh baby..._ "

He's babbling "yes"s like there's no tomorrow. It's almost agony how Faux-Mark is intentionally stalling. He may perhaps be as big of a douche as the real Mark is. His fist tightens instinctively as he thinks about Mark teasing him, purposeful and slow. Desperation makes him hand go faster.

" _...Almost... Almost there...! 1! Come now! **Come for me!**_ "

Then and there, Jack doesn't hesitate.  
He suddenly think of Mark. He thinks of Mark finding him like this- unraveling before him. He thinks about Mark witnessing Jack's dick twitch and cum spurt. He thinks about the way he'd panic if he was ever so intimately exposed to his best friend in that way. He thinks about how he'd still be too overwhelmed to suppress it any longer- unwittingly coming apart right in front of Mark, who'd have eyes wide as saucers. It's a sinful fantasy to a sinful action.

He almost loves the way it makes him feel embarrassed.

 

Almost.

 

 

Taking a peg from his past transgressions (i.e. Having a fucking hickey while Skype with Mark), Jack carefully looked himself over in the bathroom mirror to see if there was anything out of place- anything at all that might let Mark find out he was jacking it to a soundclip on phone not 20 minutes ago.

But of course he downloaded the soundclip- 3 of them, to be precise- for variety. He couldn't handle the shame of always having to purposefully track down the url every time he's horny. It's 1) not efficient, and 2) embarrassing as fuck.  
Although recently, the Irishman has become a little bit more brazen, if he were to reflect on it.

 

I mean, sure, he could always bookmark it or just find it in his browsing history- but he always deleted his browsing history to save phone space. It's not because Jack just loves being able to hear Faux-Mark all the time- or so Jack would try to convince himself.

Of course, it could be catastrophic should his phone get lost and someone would find it...  
A shiver runs up his spine.

Mark finding out about his fixation would already be enough for Jack to want to go play in traffic. Should the word go out about his pervy little hobbies, he might have to take the world down with him via some form of apocalypse.

 

He patted his still-wet green hair down, finding amusement in their almost-obnoxious brightness. Satisfied, he pulls a blue shirt over his head and briefly contemplates on wearing skinny jeans before ditching the idea and staying in his loose boxers with the Batman pattern.

As if on cue, the skype calling tone sounded from his bedroom. Jack had been open about feeling lonely recently and Mark made it is sworn duty to find some time in the day to check up on his friend. It was a sweet gesture- one that Jack needs. Maybe if he gets so normalized with his voice, his kink for it would recede.

But as Jack rushes to his desktop and answers the call to see Mark's shining face, he sincerely doubts it.  
He opens his mouth to greet-

 

"Are... Are you wearing pants?"

Time stops for a short moment. Jack had to remember that pants mean trousers for Americans, and not underwear. He looked down to see one of his favorite heroes' symbol scattered on his crotch-area. "No." Looking up, he dared to ask: "Are you?"

"No."

Silence followed, save for the thoughtful humming Mark made and the erratic beating in Jack's chest. Where was this going?

 

"I guess it's just us, two very attractive men, on a video chat together... without pants..." Mark pursues his lip in a calculating manner. "I think I've watched this porno before."

Jack, although admittedly flustered, shoots daggers with his eyes. Under the table, away from Mark's view, he subtly pressed down on the erection that threatened to press against the aforementioned boxers.

What a traitor of a penis. Batman would never let this treachery happen.

 

"Oh come on! I'm trying to be funny!"

"It's good to dream." He quipped, trying to regain his composure.

"Jeez, Jack..." Mark presses his hand against his chest while pretending to sob. "What's gotten you so bitter?"

"I'm not bitter" Jack said bitterly.

"Is it because you're not getting some anymore?" The American gestured to his neck, "I see a lot less purple all of a sudden over there."

 

Was it always so humid in this room? "That was a one time thing!"

Mark's eyes went wide at that. "You mean you're _not_ in a relationship?" His normally confident voice was barely above a whisper- as if he was divulging a secret.

"No! Who th' fuck said THAT?" Had the fandom been spreading rumors?

Mark's face was an unreadable expression. "I... assumed." He cleared his throat, "Wow, congrats Jack. You're not the vanilla, 'Sex is sacred!' twink I thought you were."

The Irishman felt his skin burn. "I'm NOT a twink!"

 

Mark leaned back into his seat. "Clearly." The smug look of his face softened, however. "Anyways, I did honestly think you were in a relationship. You _did_ admit you were feeling lonely right after you went out and got your dick wet-"

Jack's left eye twitches. He hadn't had the opportunity to tell Mark he hadn't gone through with what that night had promised.

"-so I thought you were... missing a loved one or something." The Youtuber finishes his explanation with a weak shrug.

That's Mark for you- 50% sass and 50% good intentions. _but a 200% American beefcake_. Jack's cheeks flush at that invasive thought.

 

"No no... I'm still a single man. It's not as bad as they say."

"Did your left hand tell you to say that?"

Jack scowls. "Why do you always have to take it a sexual place?"

Mark seems to actually think hard on this. "I'm a very sexual guy!"

Huffing, the Irishman shot back, "Of course you are, daddy."

 

Mark seems to respond to that. It was as if he and a full body tremor. As Jack watched his friend sheepishly run a hand up and down his arm, he wonders if he took it too far. Jack would hate to accidentally project his sexual frustration.

"Actually, I-" he clears his throat, "You know that... Who's Your Daddy? game?"

He nods.

"Let's play!" He's already moving around to fix the lighting.

"Wait-now?!"

"Yes!" It's a breathless interjection. "Right now! Right now!"

 

His heart seems to be set on it already. Defeated, Jack loads up the game. It almost pains him to have to transition into gamer-mode after being so personal with Mark just then.

Almost.


	9. Convenient Vegetables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's got some kinks, feel free to post them at the comments below and I might find a way to integrate it.
> 
> Also, ya'll sinners.

He chose pink.

Not a hot pink! It was a sort of subtle, delicate pink. It looked like a secret- like something intimate and pristine. It wasn't obnoxious or vibrant about its shade.

Something Jack could appreciate in a dildo.

 

 

"Come over."

Jack looked up to a mess of red hair with raised eyebrows. They had just finished a small recording, and it was probably very late at night for where Mark was. He half-expected the man to immediately sign off after all was done.

"I mean, come over to LA. "

It was apparent that he was taken aback, but he tried to laugh weakly in order to diffuse the shock. "Were you... like, checked out the entire I was just there, a month ago?" He rubbed the back of his neck, "I don't have time to..."

"You have a lot of stock-piled videos. You can take a break, can't you?"  
His heart seems to still. How could Mark possibly know that? Before his thoughts could go run away, the American continued, "I know what you're like when you're tired, Sean. Remember that con earlier this year?"

Oh, Indypop-con. The venue of the famous Septiplier marriage proposal. His heart lurches at the thought. Had it been that long? "Yeah, yeah... but what does that haf'ta do with anything?"

 

Mark leaned forward, setting his sculpted chin atop his folded hands. "If you're tired- and I know you are- I've been watching all your recent videos, and you admit you're not getting some, then you must be working yourself to the bone making more videos." He finishes off his deduction with a self-congratulatory smile. It makes Jack's stomach flip.

 

Not in the gay way! In the... oh shit, I have no excuse-way.

 

...but maybe _also_ in the gay way.

 

 

It came in the mail 2 days later. Leave it up to FedEx to be smart about their logistics. Still, it came early. He'd actually expected it in 2-4 more days, so best believe he wasn't emotionally or mentally prepared to see that box on his front door.

He set it down on his kitchen table, meaning to open it. He drank a tall glass of water, heated some pop tarts, ran a few laps around his house, and even answered a handful of tweets. Still, his nerves only continued to buzz.

 

Maybe he could bring it back? Say it was a mistake and ask for a refund.  
But no, then he'd have to explain why he ordered something he didn't want.

He could always throw it away? Maybe inconspicuously bring the box to some back alley and just toss it? It seemed like a good idea.

 

It wasn't that women were losing their appeal to Jack. There's still something there when a particularly cute girl would smile at him or when a broad would move just so and her curves would catch his eye.

Why would someone even trade long, sculpted legs for a pair of stubby, hairy ones? Why replace a soft face with one covered in prickly stubble? It was beyond him.

 

But as Jack scratched the corner of the package, he thought about strong, muscular biceps and how he'd love to just grip them while he was being pleasured.

Ever since that one Game Grumps episode aired about Arin loving a pinky up his butt while he masturbated, he'd been inclined to try it. When he finally got around, after convincing himself that it wasn't at all weird, it was a whirlwind of stimulation. It was as if someone was touching his dick from the back- if that made sense. His toes would curl and he even got a boner-killing leg cramp. He'd only use the method in rare opportunities.

Did this opportunity count?

 

Gingerly, he ripped open the packaging and dug through the foam peanuts. The package itself looked like it could be carrying books or some CD's. If he focused hard enough, he could pretend that it was all it was.

But no.  
It was a dildo.

The toy seemed to look expectantly at him and Jack even had to look away just to be able to breathe.  
It was supposed to be an experiment. Maybe he could purge all his attractions towards Mark by going 0 to 100 real quick.

But the man himself wanted Jack to come over- and so soon, too. He declined a little too firmly, but he was sure he was bound to ask again. The first time around already took every ounce of strength to reject the offer, but at the second time, he'd surely cave.

 

The silicone toy was jiggly in his hand. Jack gave it a firm squeeze and felt his face heat up. What was he doing?

It was a good, standard 7 inches. Nothing too fancy for his first time. He'd doubt he'd have the balls to order another. Why would someone need multiple dildos in the first place? A well-shaped cucumber would be a cheaper alternative.

But Jack's butthole deserved better than a convenient vegetable. That was his alibi as he took the phallic object and made his way to the bedroom.


	10. Skype Glitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly dialogue-based. Haha, use your imaginations, kids.

"Aghh- FUCKING HELL."

Jack bit his pillowcase in order to refrain from getting any louder than that. Porn stars make it seem so easy, but Jack couldn't stop from unwittingly clenching and it was causing hellfire in his nether regions. _You_ try shoving something up your ass!

 

Currently, Jack was on his knees, butt wiggling in the air experimentally while the soft pink dildo was a few inches deep.

What chain of events caused this to happen and how could he have prevented this, Jack wondered.

His fingers were disgusting slick from the copious amounts of lube he used in order to prepare himself. A pinky was one thing, but trying to scissor yourself was an impossible feat. His Irish butthole would just not give.

 

It could be that he was just on edge. His nerves were making him tense, and in turn, stopping the toy from sinking any deeper into his anus.  
Not that thinking about the whole act in biological terms made it sexier... maybe that was what his problem was? He had to think sexier?

Gathering some courage, Jack buried his face in his pillow and thought about arms and the v-shape going down from a pair of abs. He thought about sculpted dudes and their rippling power and grace. He thought about Mark from his #SexyMark video.

Jack yelped. Unknowingly, he had started to meagerly thrust the toy to and fro and it had caught at an awkward angle.

 

Fanfic made it sound so easy.

 

Raising his hips a little, Jack could tell he was sporting a half-chub, and a half-chub is better than flaccid. It seemed like, begrudgingly, Mark was the only thing that made his arousal spike.  
What a fucking travesty. Of all the men in this world, it had to be Mark.  
Heck, it could be Khal Drogo or Chris Hemsworth- but NOPE! It was a too-sassy redhead that made his balls blue.

Tired, sweaty and decidedly annoyed at Mark's biceps, he decided to call it a day.

 

Until the Skype call sounded.

 

Panicked, Jack looked up to his bedside digital clock to see it had been 45 minutes since he tried to have his ass relax, instead of the hopeful 15 minutes or less. It was Mark and he knew it. Mark was calling him and he knew it. Of course he knew it, he was the one who set up the schedule.

Somehow, his cock twitched at the thought. Why the fuck even though? His penis needs to sort out some issues.  
The Irishman brushed his green bangs away from his face, gearing to get the foreign object as far away from him as possible, get up, and talk to his friend.

 

Unless...

 

His eyes shot open.

No.

No no no.

No no no no no no _yes_ no.

 

 

"-aaack!"

"Calm yer tits, I'm here."

"Took you long enough. I've been gearing for another round of Who's Your Daddy."

"Believe it 'er not, there are more pressing matter in my life than seeing you fail at keeping your child from killing itself."

"Woof. I choose to ignore that. I think I did pretty great last time."

"I ate batteries and froze in th'fridge."

"I choose to ignore that too."

"Mhm..."

"Uh, Jack?"

"Wh-What now?"

"Why are you twitching?"

"Am I...? Must be the Skype connecting b-bugging out."

"Really? Maybe we should restart this call a-"

"No! I'm sure it'll pass. Let's just give it some time."

"Oh...kay? Is there... something you wanted to talk about?"

"I-I... Yes and no. About... th'... going to LA?"

"Yeah? You going?"

"Thinking about it. I... I mean... I was there s-so recently and-"

"Jack, I think something is wrong with the audio."

"O-Oh! Yeah, me too. You sound glitchy. It's... getting better though."

"Alright."

"Anyways, I was there so recently and... what else is there to do?"

"We could-"

"Tell me in perfect detail."

"O-Okay...? Um, we could go for another Disney trip, I honestly think you can't ever get tired of the rides. But if you do, we can hit California Adventure, which is more thrill-seeking rides. I know you're afraid of heights and all, but maybe there's some low-ground roller coasters or something? Hopefully nothing near an ocean. You know how I am about bodies of water. If you don't want anything too stressful, we can always go to the Hollywood Boulevard and follow the Walk of Fame. Oh! We can even make a game where we think of a random star and search for their star..."

 

 

"Jack? Jack, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, M-Mark."

"Did you end the call just now?"

"N-No? I thought _you_ ended it on _me_."

"Stupid Skype. At least you look all pristine and clear on me now. The audio seems to have improved too. You don't sound like you're stuttering anymore."

"Yep! Same for me."

"Um... Is it me or are you _really_ sweaty?"

"Don't judge my lifestyle! I... turned off the AC."

"Yeah? You following that with 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats and a-"

"10 KILOMETER RUN. EVERYDAY. FOR 3 YEARS. No thanks. I prefer having hair."

"I think you'd look cute bald with a stupid yellow jumpsuit."

"I'm cute no matter what."

"Absolutely. So, anyways, LA-"

"Enough with that. You've convinced me."

"I have?"

"Yeah, yeah. Now let's get this recording over with!"

 

 

Jack had to clean cum stains on the bottom of his desk that night in shame.


	11. A Study in Sexuality

It was a one time thing, he argued.

It was too much effort. Granted, the orgasm was phenomenal, but he wasn't able to bask in the afterglow on account having to immediately be Jacksepticeye after. The 45 minutes of ass-preparation just didn't break even. His butthole wasn't meant to be penetrated in that way, he argued.

It was a new low, for sure. He'd somehow evolved from tugging his dick to the sounds of a Mark sound-alike to thrusting a dildo inside of him while the real Mark was rambling off about something as mundane as Disneyland.  
Jack retires the sex toy to a low shelf of long-sleeves and winter jackets. That'll keep it out of his hair for the next 8 months or so.

Still, there couldn't be enough time in the world to understand what had came over him recently. Was he in love with Mark or not? Was there something there? Or was it just for sex?

 

Jack thought about Jason-from-the-bar and his boyish charm. If it was for sex, why did he refuse?

It might be the twinkiness, Jack mulls over. Maybe refusing Matt for being a twink held some water. But no, if he was looking for some feminine, then why would he even go out looking for a man? Sure, some people are into that sort of thing, but it just didn't feel right.

 

Jack decided It was time to organize his thoughts. It's not just because Mark is a man. Mark is more than his sex, he is a friend. If that were the case, was Jack attracted to all his friends?

No... That's stupid.

 

 

"H-H-How's it goin', bros? My name is Peeeewwwdiepie!"

 

 

Okay, so maybe there was something there after all. Jack clicks out of Felix' video and silently screams into his pillow.

 

Still, it wasn't the same. It lacked passion. He got it up, but not naturally. Not that Felix isn't an attractive guy- he'd gone on record to claim he'd suck his dick. It's not that the blonde hair-blue eyes combo wasn't working out for him either. There was something to be said about Felix's childish mannerisms and carefree, fuck-it-all attitude, compared to Mark's observant thoughtfulness. Plus, Marzia would straight up murder his Irish ass.

Ken had a similar reaction too. His lumberjack aesthetic surely filled out some unbeknownst fantasies. A brief image of burly arms holding him down surfaced. Yet something still lacked there. His glasses were all wrong. His beard was too thick. He'd be more of a cuddle buddy than anything.

Bob was an awkward thought. He clicked it and out of the video in 15 seconds flat.

Wade just killed his boner the first time his face showed up on screen. Dammit, Wade.

But Danny... Oh sweet Danny. Jack thought for sure his dick would remain disgusted by Wade so much, such that it would prevent itself from getting erect. He was wrong. Danny is a beautiful man.

Arin is beautiful too.

Ross and Barry.

Ninja Bri-

 

He stopped there. The guy was a dad. He was like 45 or something.

Despite it, none of these guys felt natural. Their charm wasn't as strong. Jack scrubbed his face. He'd been lying down on his mattress, trying to figure this out for the past 30 minutes with barely anything to show for it.

 

 

So maybe he was demisexual.

And maybe he was also a little bit in love with Mark Fischbach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demisexual = must know a person before they become attracted to him/her/they


	12. We Play Along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had accidentally pasted over the first draft but that's okay but the first draft was shit. Here, have v2.

"I got extra controllers and those sweets that Barry likes. Anything else?"

Ross, on Jack's screen was ticking items from a checklist. "Um, beer... candy... cheesy souvenirs... That seems to be all. Thanks for doing this, Jack."

Jack was meticulously folding up a shirt, and failing at it, "It's nothing at all. It's th' least I can do fer ya guys bein' so hospitable."

"Oh! Oh!" Kevin frantically waved his hands from his tiny Skype box onscreen. "Do you... can you bring that YouTube Christmas sweater they have us?"

"Why... Why would I... It's summer!" Jack raised an eyebrow from his place on the floor next to his luggage. Only the top of half of his face could be seen on the webcam.

 

"Exactly! Don't you think it would be funny if we went to like- a beach and we're all dressed in winter stuff. It could look like a holiday photo!"

"And die of heat stroke immediately after?" Ross shook his head. "No thanks."

"Come on, ya salty bastard. Let the kid have his fun." Jack got up on shaky, half-asleep legs and wobbled over to where he keeps his sweaters and scarves. "If we make it quick, it'd be worth it."

Behind his back, he could hear Kevin hooraying. What a cute kid.

 

"Hey Jack, when does your flight leave?"

The words sounded slurred from Jack's place across the room. "Ross? Huh?"

"Your flight, you deaf fuck. When is it?"

"Ehm, tomorrow morning around... 9, I think. Yeah, 9."

The Australian whistled low. "That's so soon. You're not even telling your subscribers?"

"They won't even notice. Plus, it'd be funny to see their reaction if we filmed some stuff." Jack unearthed the green-red-blue-and-white sweater from its place underneath other haphazardly folded sweaters on the low shelf.

"Ooh! I'd love to have your over for Grumpcade."

"That'd be a dream." Jack chimed in softly, his voice full of awe, as he grabbed the bundle of cloth and violently stuffed it in with the rest of his luggage.

 

"We don't have to fight for your time with Mark, do we?" Kevin said wearily, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "I want to hang out with you, Jack, but I can't compete with Mark in _those_ respects."

"In what respects?" Jack echoed, confused.

Kevin's mouth formed a thin line. It was as if he caught himself divulging something meant to be unsaid. "Nothing." He mumbled feebly.

"Ooohh~ Looks like Kevin ships septicplier." Ross teased in a sing-song voice.

 

Jack, although shaken, raised up a hand, "Okay first of all- it's SEPTIplier. Omit the C." Glad to make the others laugh, he continued. "And I thought you hated shipping, Kev? What's up with that?"

"I don't hate shipping. I don't like _being_ shipped. It's... weird. For me, at least. I'm afraid it might scare girls away." He gestured to Ross on his respective screen. "Ross doesn't care. He's already married. Holly won't be freaked out, or at least, by a lot."

"Geez," The Australian pouted. "You make marriage sound like a trap."

The Filipino feigned surprise. "It's not?! How did you get Holly to spend the rest of her life with you if you _weren't_ holding her against her will?"

 

Jack snickered at Ross' glare. After grumbling low under his breath, the man turned his attention to Jack. "He has a point, though. If it bothers you, you CAN ask them to stop. I'm okay with Rubberbang because... well, what Kevin said. I'm pretty chill since I am, as a matter of fact, and by consent, a married man."

"Well, married-man," Jack grinned, but it soon faltered, "It would've been easier if I had come outright with it. But I think I'm too deep in t' just... ban it alt'gether. It doesn't make me uncomfortable, and I appreciate people expressing their talents. I don't mind. It never killed me to... to play along."

 

Kevin huffed. "Even if those talents express you in like... weird bondage scenarios?"

The Irishman raised his hands in exaggerated, but still genuine, scandalization. "Woah there! Kevin, you naughty boy, have you been digging to th' NSFW Septiplier tags?"  
A serious example of the pot calling the kettle black, Jack thought after the words left his mouth.

The baby grump flushed a similar color to Jack. "It was just an example!"

 

Ross continued to tease the baby grump as Jack mentally checked out. They had a point. He had every right to stop the shipping then and there. In fact, had he done that sooner, he would have completely avoided finding Faux-Mark, or bourbon_neat, as he had discovered his username to be.  
Would that stop him from looking into his sexuality? It had been a handful of days since Jack came to terms with what word he'll use to describe whether or not he'll get the hots for someone. Still, there was uncertainty that lingered. There was still a chance it was all a fluke. But right now, he didn't know if he'd prefer it to be.

The off-hand mention of bondage unabashedly stuck itself to Jack's head. Continuously, Mark made the effort to check up on his friend when he can. It gives a rush of emotions to know that he had power to make the American worry about him.

A soft, worrisome, vulnerable Mark was a stark juxtaposition to his usual bravado. There was a part, a previously unspoken, side of Jack that was being woken up. It certainly awoke something _downstairs_.

 

The Irishman had snapped out of his daze as he heard Ross trying to catch his attention. He croaked out a dry "Yeah?"

"I asked if you had any games in mind you wanted to play."


	13. Trial Period

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much plot plot plot. Don't worry, I'll move things along side on enough.
> 
> Thank you for all your love and support in the comments!!

Trial period.

 

That's what Jack calls it.

They say everyone is in on a spectrum- a wide range of sexualities- and Jack wasn't 100% sure on where he stood.

So far, it's been an isolated case. Case #001: Mark Edward Fischbach, also known as Markiplier, also known as the biggest asshole ever because he invited Jack to LA but he's not even picking him up because he has "other plans" that suddenly conflicted.

 

Jack reread the text message for what felt like the 14th time, still in disbelief that he'd been ditched. Not that it was particularly rude- Mark was profusely sorry and had sent the message over 9 hours ago.  
It's not Jack's fault he didn't hear the bleep of the oncoming text!

 

...except maybe it was, because he set his notifications on mute.

 

...because he was masturbating.

 

...to Mark's sound-alike.

 

 

....for the 3rd time that day.

 

Where was he again?  
Oh yeah. Trial period.

So it was well-established that the boy from the bar that one time a week or so ago was its own special little exception. Truth be told, he looked so alike to young Mark that the memory of his face didn't seem to be faithful. His name seemed to fade too. Jackson? Jaime? It was a fruitless endeavor. It was all Mark Mark Mark. You could say that the American really left his **mark**.

Jack suddenly laughed at his own internal pun, hoarsely might I add, in the middle of baggage checking. He tried to disguise it as a cough. The man operating the x-ray machine still gave him suspicious glances.

 

But anyways, that's not to say it couldn't happen again. There are millions- billions of people in this Earth and any number of them could be an Adonis. Many of them could even be better looking than Markiplier himself.

Something heavy settled in between Jack's collarbones at the thought. Mark was no object. Sure, being attractive was a perk, but it felt sacrilegious to simplify what makes him beautiful into just his appearance.

 

Huh. Beautiful. That's a new word.

 

The woman behind the counter was beautiful too. She had a tight bun and dark eyes. Her enthusiasm wasn't forced or plastic, it was real and inviting. The vague sent of mint enveloped her like mist.

Jack took sidelong glances at the other airline workers on the counters as the lady in front of him did some typing on her computer. They were all beautiful. They all looked friendly.

Despite this, beauty wasn't just superficial. You can't know what a person is like just by how put together they are. The thought crosses his mind then: does Jack know Mark? REALLY know Mark?

Sure, they've recognized each other- identified each other for the longest time. But their relationship isn't as intimate or personal as one would hope... as Jack hoped it would be. Something about distance.

 

Jack helps the lady get his luggage on the weighing scale as he tries to collect his thoughts about the trial period.

Basically, he decided to allot some time wherein he will identify as a demisexual- as someone who is not straight. Not like... screaming it into the heavens or anything about how much of his closest friends' dick / vagina he'd like to get it on with.  
It'll be like inwardly acknowledging that he isn't as hetero as forethought, and see how it goes from there.

It could be that, once he tries to believe it, his true self might reject the thought and realize it won't work out for him.

 

It's... a possibility.

 

Jack sits his ass down in the waiting area for the terminal. It's early and sun was still asleep as well as the general population. Only a few, albeit tired, souls were amongst the Irishman there. Most of them wore expensive looking suits and others had their head rested on their partner's shoulder, snoring softly.

Thankfully, no families.  
Don't get him wrong! Jack loves kids! It's just that he'd love it even more if he didn't have to spend hours on end having his chair kicked from the back by some brat.

 

Family.  
There was a thought.

Being demisexual would mean an off chance of not even ending up with a girl. That would mean no family.  
Sure, his brothers and sisters had kids of their own, so it's not like his parents would feel robbed on grandchildren. In fact, when all the youngins are over for the holidays, it's as if they're wishing they had _less_.  
Adoption was always a choice.

 

Would Mark make a good dad?

Jack burnt his lips on the cheap coffee he picked up at the nearby airport McDonald's. It hadn't even crossed his mind until now.

He remembers seeing Mark interact with children. He even went so far as to mimic a baby's crying in front of him, making the onlookers squeal and titter with glee. There was even that Mini-Warfstache cosplayer that he featured in his vlog. It was cute. He was cute.

 

Cute. Beautiful.

 

There are so many revelations all of a sudden. It made him dizzy. He hadn't even left Ireland yet.

Jack gathered his hand carry as the overhead pager announced the landing of the plane he was going to ride. He threaded onward, prepared for anything, but at the same time shaking in his knees.


	14. Home Away From Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to the commentor who made the broner joke. This one is for you.

So Jack had a boner for his bros. A _broner_ , if you will.

He came to this conclusion after an obviously attractive flight steward slipped him a few extra packets of peanuts upon his request. Sure, he was a sweet guy. He'd high-five him. He wouldn't exactly offer to steam up the airplane bathroom though.

Same goes for the curvaceous brunette woman strutting down the aisle with a tray of beverages.

 

The metal bird had finally gotten in the altitude that allows him to use gadgets. Honestly, the whole "radiowaves interfering" never convinced him. He obliged nonetheless, bouncing his leg impatiently during the wait.

He whipped out his laptop from under his seat and set up the food tray as a makeshift table. Thankfully, the flight was particularly vacant so no one sat beside him. He opened the browser to his homescreen, which was his channel, and revealed that his new video gratefully did upload on time. Jack felt guilty to not tell his subscribers he had left, and took every precaution not to let them find out too soon.

 

Jack made his usual rounds of answering twitter comments and checking emails. Being an Internet celebrity, despite being averted to calling himself that, required arduous hours answering, replying, reacting, and the whole 9 yards. You'd think it was easier than it was.

As he finally got into Skype, he saw that Mark left a little message for him. It read:

 

_Not my fault you read this late!  
Sorry still. But Suzy offered to pick you up from the airport at Terminal 4, so no worries! She'll be coming from an errand, so she might arrive a little bit after your ETA. Just wait for her, okay?_

_Happy trip, Sean. :)"_

 

Jack's heart swells. Half for Mark and half at the joy of not having to get into some guy's skeezy taxi and pay thrice the amount of fare. He slouches, inviting sleep to come and cradle him.

He thinks about Mark and how he could have possibly also known how much Jack hates the hassles of travel.

 

 

Fuck his life.

There was a mix-up with some of the baggages, so Jack's stuff came around a grand total of 45 minutes later. The management apologized profusely and gave him a gift certificate for a jewelry store in the airport mall.

He jokingly mentioned he'd rather have an ice cream. And by jokingly, he means he made puppy eyes at the person in charge until she was weirded out and laughed out of awkwardness.

Nevertheless, Jack took it in stride and used the certificate to buy a pair of simple (and cheap) silver stud earrings. He might as well gift it to Suzy as a thank you. Jack entertained the thought of using earrings again before scrunching up his nose and moving on. Tiny little pieces of metal was an inconvenience to clean and protect. He'd end up losing them somehow.

 

Once he'd gotten to the terminal, he saw the woman herself holding up an illustration board with a cutesy drawing of himself with cat ears and a tail. He bounded happily to her.

"Mr. Septiceye?" Her darkly-painted lips curved into a smirk.

He played along in a British accent. "Yes that would be me." He turned up his nose and gestured to his luggage. "Bring these to the limousine. But don't just throw the, around willy-nilly! I'm holding very _valuable_ items here. The Queen herself asked me personally to escort these to the Duke!"

Mrs. Berhow-Hanson erupted in a fit of giggles. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug and pressed her lips to his temple. "Welcome back, Jack."

The hug was returned with so much force that Suzy made a mental note to check up on her physician. "Thanks fer th'warm welcome." Jack took the illustration board from her. "And THANK YA for the awesome drawing! Can I- Can I have a picture? Just for keeps?"

He didn't even leave her time to respond as he pulled out his phone and placed it in her hands. Jack put on his whackiest face, which even caused a few onlookers to stop and stare at the green-haired weirdo. Jack didn't care.

He was home.

 

"Where to, Mr. Septiceye?"

"To the Fischbach-Watson-Magee household!" 

Suzy did a cute little two-finger salute before buckling herself up and starting the gas. She had viciously encouraged Jack to sit next to her in the driver's seat since 1) he could see the sights more, and 2) there were taxidermed animals in the backseat. Jack opted not to ask her what errand she came from.

 

The road to his destination was long and winding, but he didn't even notice with how much he just loved being there- being here to experience sunshine. It was clear to anyone that Jack didn't get enough vitamin D on account of how pale he was. That was part genetics, part habits, and part having a job indoors.

Suzy related to him on the paleness and went off about her experiences trying to find a concealer, only to discover than even the palest shade was dark on her!

 

Jack snapped his fingers- suddenly remembering the gift he had for her.  
He reached into the backseat, trying to stuff his hand in the front pocket of his backpack which was next to a deer head. Finally, he retrieved the blue box and placed it in the dashboard.

"Fer you." He made note of how Suzy's eyes lit up, "They gave me a certificate to make up fer almost losing my stuff. I added a little extra."

With one hand on the wheel and a highway in front of them, Suzy delicately plucked the box and popped the lid open. She sighed dreamily.

"Oh Sean," she crooned, "You're too much. I can't accept this."

 

Jack stuck his tongue out. "It's nothing special."

Suzy shook her head. "Keep it. I'm sorry, I already have a pair like that at home. Actually... I think it'd look great on you. You've got pierced ears, right?"

She pushed the box towards him on the dashboard. "You're not serious." He said.

"I am! Guy earrings are so in chic right now."

"I'm not doubting you on that. It's just that it's been... a really long time. It might have closed up."

Suzy glanced at him with a raised (finely drawn) brow and an upturned mouth. She challenged, "Didn't you shove a coat hanger through your ear?"

He guffawed unwittingly at the memory. Jack took the box and surveyed the contents: two bright and shiny silver studs- delicate, but full of statement.

 

Jack stepped up on Mark's front porch, wearing earrings.


	15. Two Is A Crowd

It happened at a fraction of a second.

 

Mark, in all his real life glory, threw open the door after 3 stern knocks. His toned arms were outstretched, but were quickly dropped. His face faltered.

"Ja-!" He blinked. "Oh. Your earrings are... nice." The American cleared his throat and leaned into Jack's shoulder, wrapping his limbs around his waist.

For whatever reason, he felt warm to the touch. It could just be that Jack had just stepped out of Suzy's air-conditioned car. He shrugged it off and snaked his hands around Mark's neck. "I just came back from the war. It's great finally go back home to the wife."

His friend's laugh was hearty. Mark stepped back, a hand on his neck. He spoke in a high-pitched tone, "Oh my stars! I've been miserable without you! It's been hell raising the boys on my own without my man!" He even lifted his foot and twirled to drive the point.

 

"Oh, because that's not heteronormative _at all_." Suzy pipes up sarcastically while single-handedly lugging Jack's baggage and backpack.

"I didn't mean it, Suzy!" Mark calls after her, rushing to help her. She picks up her pace and calls out that she's fine.

 

As if on cue, Matt and Ryan came bouncing in and almost yanked Jack's arms off trying to pull him in.

"Yoooooooo!" Ryan called. He enveloped Jack in a bear hug while Matt sensually stroked Jack's arm.  
"It's good to have you back." Matt played up a (failed) seductive tone. Jack matched his suggestive expression and put his arm around him.

"It's been 28 seconds and you're already about to eat him alive." Suzy comments in between fits of snickering. "Jack, I'm putting your stuff here on the couch, okay? I'm sorry, boys, but I have to go."

Mark pouted, "You just got here. Don't you want to share this tender, loving moment?"

 

"You're doing enough of that by yourself," she scoots closer to Mark and gestures to Ryan and Matt who are holding Jack is a group hug. "I have to get my taxidermy stuff home anyways." The woman pecks Mark on the cheek as a goodbye.

The Irishman struggles to break free from the two's hold, "THANK YA AGAIN."

She winks and gives a flying kiss as she exits the room in her usual grace. Mark follows behind to close the door.

 

"Good to have you here again." The Korean-German's rumbling voice sounded, all warm and familiar.

Matt made a hum of acknowledgement. He turned to Jack, a sly expression on his face, "Yeah, ever since you left, Mark's been all like 'I miss Jack', 'I want Jack to come back', 'Ooh I want to suck Jack's Irish dick'"

 

The man in question made a few sputtering noises. "M-More like YOU AND RYAN." He called back, red now with embarrassment.

Jack felt himself match Mark's blushing complexion, he laughed it off, "There's more than enough of me to go around."

Ryan huffed. " _Sure_." He placed his hand on top of Jack's head. The height difference between them was taken note of.

"What's that supposed t'mean?" Jack challenged.

 

"Come on now, boys. Don't be rude to our guest." Mark picked up Jack's stuff from the couch where Suzy left them. "I'll bring your stuff to your room, alright? Guys, don't scare him off while I'm gone."

"Oh Mark, you don't haf'ta-" but Mark was already gone.

"Leave it up to him, Sean." Ryan tugged on his elbow, "Come on! I showed Lego how to swim! Wanna see?" He didn't even give Jack time to answer as he dragged him towards the porch to see their pair of dogs paddling away in the pool.

 

 

 

The boys are a handful, Jack decides. Not that he's not enjoying, just that he's never seen a pair of grown men so excited about a dog rolling over. Why can't things be like this forever? Surely, having someone to share a home with would be so much better than the set-up he has now talking to himself on the daily.

A mildly wet Jack was washing his hands in the sink. Chica and Lego just so happened to shake their sopping wet fur in front of him so here we are now.

 

He remembers trying to convince his then-girlfriend to move in to his home. However, the leap from Korea to Ireland was not a small one. There was always a race thing.

It was since Ireland doesn't usually have many migrants, and if so, they stayed within their own little sector of society. She was introverted and liked to keep to herself, so it was suffice to say she wasn't keen on the idea of sticking out like a sore thumb.

Jack's hands are clean, but he's still washing them. He felt dirty.  
Dirty to be falling for his best friend. The thought crosses his mind- is he using Mark as a replacement for his Korean ex? That's repulsive, he thinks. He wouldn't do that.

 

But maybe he's just been so lonely that he's getting desperate. His libido is getting bigger than he can handle it to be and now he's compensating by wanting to hump the nearest warm body.

It's not a good thought. But it might explain some things.

Damn Faux-Mark. This is his fault.

 

Mark is finishing up some videos in the other room. Ryan and Matt are both taking showers- not together, but in the two separate bathrooms. Jack feels strangely alone.

The three promised to go out to dinner later tonight. Tomorrow, they can binge watch a few shows until the afternoon. After that, they're going to the grump space to party out with some friends. Then they'll see where they go from their in Jack's remaining 5 days.

5 days didn't seem like enough. An eternity still doesn't feel like enough either.

 

He shuts off the tap. He didn't want to flood the house or cause a spike in the water bill with how long he's been deep-cleaning. Sadly, there was only one way to know for sure how he feels about Mark- about his friends and men in general. His gut felt cold. He was a guest in this house as a friend, and now he has ulterior motives? It was a new low.

But Jack knew he had to sink deeper. He inhaled deeply, the exhale came out shaky.

 

 

"I haf'ta seduce Mark Fischbach."

"Yeah, good luck with that."


	16. Got Problems?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha.

"I haf'ta seduce Mark Fischbach."

"Yeah, good luck with that."

 

The Irishman almost broke his neck with the whiplash.

 

On the other side of the kitchen, Matt sat idly at the counter eating a bowl of Special K. In fact, he wasn't even looking at him. The young editor, with hair still damp from his shower, was enraptured with the phone in his hand, with a spoon full of flakes on the other.

Jack opened and shut his mouth. There was no saving that, sure enough.   
He broke out into a full body sweat. In his mind, he already planned on escaping to Alaska and working as a sheep herder named Antonio.

 

"Did you know 40% of millennials don't eat cereal for breakfast? What exactly is the age range of 'millennials'? I mean, my cousin doesn't finish her cereal either, but she's like- 7!"

 

Jack remembered that one time a sheep rammed into him at a school field trip and made him cry in front of the class. So no for sheep herder. He inched closer to the drawer full of cutlery and knives. He could make it look like an accident, he thought.

 

As if noticing the color absent from his face, Matt, who now has the decency to look up from the screen, giggled softly. "Calm down."

Jack's face said it all.

Matt rolled his eyes. "I don't care where you want your penis to be. In fact," he raised his spoon while gesticulating, "I'd _like_ you to please get it on with my boss."

"You're not serious." His throat feels dry.

"Not usually, no. Have you _seen_ my video content?"

 

Jack shook his head violently. "How can- I jus'-" he balled up his fists, "I never meant for this to happen." The statement sounds weaker than he wanted it to be.

 

As if picking up on his tribulations, Mark speaks: "Listen, man..." He brings up his slender finger to his face to push up his glasses, "Mark's a good guy. He really likes you. Why else would he invite you here again and so soon? You may not know this since he tries to act so cool about it, but in the past 3 days he's been cleaning every inch of this house and cancelling plans to make time for you. Even important business ones."

Jack is stunned. Matt continues, "You mean a lot to him. If it just so happens that you like him a little more than you think you should be... Well, who's to say Mark isn't facing the same problem?"

Jack felt like crying. Whether it be out of humiliation, frustration, or an influx of emotion- he doesn't know.

 

"He's straight."

"I thought you were too."

 

The Irishman reddened. "I am still! Well, I mean... I'm jus'... There's something different about Mark." He finishes his ramble on in a whispering tone so that nobody else may hear.

"Mark-sexual."

He raises an eyebrow. "I'm demi."

"Lovato? Ooh! I loved Camp Rock!"

Jack glared at the blonde.

 

Matt mimics his sour expression, but jokingly. "Believe it or not, I know how you feel. Mark has this... attractive quality about him." He stuffs another spoonful of cereal in his mouth, making his words slur. "He doeshn't prob'ly realish it e'ther."

Swallowing, he points to Jack accusingly with his silverware. "I wanted to seduce Mark Fischbach since I started working with him- it was a little freebie opportunity from my girlfriend. I know you feel the same way. You look at him the same way I used to."

Jack could do nothing but echo. He felt his throat constrict. Maybe his body was trying to suffocate itself. Jack wishes it would- it'd save him some face. "Used to?"

"I gave up. You don't have to think of me as competition, alright? I realized some things you like better as a concept than a reality."  
The words embed themselves into Jack's mind.

 

The blond laughed, gentle and easy, "I wouldn't say no if the situation presented itself, though." A smile plays on his lips. "But it seems like you're more likely to get the chance than I am."

 

Jack fumbles with the hem of his shirt, fearing that his hands might involuntarily strangle his own neck if he doesn't keep them busy. "Doubt it. Straight, remember?"

"Everyone's got exceptions. Maybe he's... _Sean-sexual_ "? There's a lilt of hope in his voice and Jack can't distinguish its sincerity.

 

But he wishes it was. Because what if, right? What if it's true? I mean, the probability is surely stupidly small... but improbable is better than impossible.

 

Suspicion starts to arise. "What's in it for you?"

"A happy Mark means better work ethic. Better work ethic means funnier commentary. Funnier commentary means less awkward silence that I have to edit out of his videos. Less work means a happy Matt." He pauses. "Funny commentary also means funnier videos; more subscribers; more audience; more ad revenue; more salary. Even happier Matt."

Jack gapes at him disbelievingly. He's impressed.  
"Is that all I am to ya? A pawn? So you can get more money for doing less work?"

It surprises Jack how offended Matt looks. He drops his spoon in the now-empty bowl. "No." It was stern. "You're my friend- you both are. I want you to be happy."

 

Some guilt arises. Jack didn't think that Matt would care as much as he did. He prepares for an apology.

"Also, I made a bet with Ryan, so..."

Any words asking for forgiveness died on the Irishman's tongue. "Motherfucker!"

The blonde picked up his bowl with a too-big grin on his twinky little face, purposefully ignoring Jack's call-out. "I'm just a kid with problems."

 

He watches Matt's graceful movements as he sauntered to the sink to wash his bowl and the plates that stacked up there. He'd always been the most househusband-like member of he household.  
He compares him to Mark- all thin limbs and untouched skin compared to Mark's tanner, rougher, veiner complexion. The boy is only newly 19. Or was it 20? Honestly, had it not been for his height, he could pass off as a 17-year-old.

Jack's train of thought leads him to Jackson, er- Jason. Jason the "18-year-old" —with quotation marks; Lord knows what shit you'll spout when you're hankering for some good loving. Truth be told, there was still lingering uncertainty over the ordeal.

 

What if it was just fueled by lust? People will say crazy things because their dicks are taking 90% of their brain function away.

So what if he sleeps with Markiplier? What happens next? A relationship? Or would it be a one night stand?  
Sure, Jack had admitted to holding romantic feelings for the fellow Youtuber- but what if it's all smoke and mirrors to try to justify wanting to get in the man's pants? To get into ALL his closest friends' pants?

After all, how could all this time pass without him realizing his "feelings"? The Septiplier fandom could all just be thirsty viewers, reading too deep into things.

 

He probably shouldn't take their headcannons as gospels.

 

He couldn't _really_ be in love with Mark Fischbach... could he? Maybe a little, but not- not THAT much. He always did say he loved Mark as a concept during his Killing Floor play through with him and Wade. What if the reality isn't all it's cracked up to be?

 

"By the way," Matt cuts into his deep thinking, "Mark likes red lace."


	17. Probably Your Favorite Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how many darlings think my shit is good. I alway think I'm top unbelievably wordy and the plot is winding.  
> But hey, don't fix it if it ain't broke, yeah?
> 
> I bet ya'll'll (you all will) like this chapter :)
> 
>  
> 
> And yes, I'm making "ya'll'll" a thing

This is so stupid, Jack thought.

He continued to think about how stupid it was as he pulled up his sock.

 

The Los Angeles sun may have been shining, rightfully so, but Jack still felt severely underdressed. As per Matt's instruction, Jack's lithe, pale form was adorned in a loose shirt that was long enough to go halfway down his bum, and a pair of tight but casual boxers. Oh, and socks too. That was somehow important because Matt made the point to mention it about four times.

The conversation they shared was a short one, considering that Jack felt it fit to spontaneously combust at any moment. Still, after showering, he still felt too hot. How was the kid so relaxed about ANY of this?! Jack would never know.

Is that what it's like to be confident in your sexuality? Jack envies him.

 

He checked himself out in the slim standing mirror in the guest room. The black top he was wearing was one he wore to sleep- it had a faded print Avenged Sevenfold's logo. It was obviously well worn considering the hem was shabby and that the head-hole was so stretched out that it was basically an off-shoulder. His collarbone showed. He felt ridiculous.

 

It was almost as if Matt was more excited about Jack coming to terms with his sexuality than he himself was. Don't get him wrong! It means the world that he's helpful, it's just that...

Jack ran a hand down his smooth, hairless legs.

 

He mourned softly, knowing if he didn't take care of them, they'd be stubbly and itchy in a few days time. That was a lesson he learned after his waxing video during Saint Patrick's Day.

Why does Matt know so much about what Mark is supposedly attracted to?  
Jack shrugs the thought off. He trusts in Matt. He just hopes his trust in him isn't misplaced.

 

Unlike his dick in these tight boxers. Jack "adjusts" himself for what felt the 6th time.

 

They were going to sit down, talk about how to spend Jack's visit, share a few stories, and then get dressed to eat dinner outside. It was all normal. Except Jack was wearign earrings, his damp hair clung to his face, and he was dressed like a twink. Jack looked out the window to try and distinguish if the fall would kill him. There was a knock on the door.

 

"Hey Jack, are you-" a pause. "Jack, what the fuck?"

 

He turns towards the door to see Mark peeking in, eyes wide and brows near to his hairline. Jack's voice was faltering, "I-It's hot."

To his flustered surprise, Jack sees Mark wet his lips. "Yeah, it is..." The Korean-German coughs, "But why are you dressed like _th-that_?!"

"It's comfortable." He argues while looking extremely uncomfortable.

 

Mark looks away. "Okay. Sure. Uhh... C'mon, let's talk about plans." He makes a hasty retreat, but leaves the door open.

The Irishman was almost compelled to get back in his jeans, but it would be too weird now that Mark has seen him. He feels ready for the sweet embrace of death.

 

When Jack comes in the living room, he can tell the exact moment it dawns upon Ryan what he is wearing because. Ryan does a double take from his place in the couch. Gladly, he didn't pay much mind, or at least say anything. Matt just glanced at him once before glancing at Mark and then looking pleased with himself. The tension in the room was so heady that you could get drunk from it.

 

"So, plans?" Jack tried to diffuse the silence.

"Yes! Plans!" Mark responded, a little too loudly, too forced. His shoulders are visibly tense from his place in the dining room table.

Ryan didn't seem to take note of it, "Disneyland!"

"We just got from there."

"Disneylaaaaand!"

Mark huffed tiredly and looked to Jack. The green-haired man pursued his lips.

"Well, I heard that clothes and shoes are cheaper than here than in Ireland. I think it'd like t' buy some cool shoes."

The blonde perked up, "Ooh, you gonna get some white vans?"

"Don't start with me, LordMeme-ion."

Mark started typing on his phone. "Alright, so outlet mall... I guess the day after tomorrow? I mean, we could do it with the grumps tomorrow. But we might attract too much attention to ourselves." It was difficult to go out and do normal things when you're YouTube famous.

"We can go out to the movies. I heard Zootopia was great." Matt stood up from his place in the couch and went over to Mark's position in the dining table.

"Furry!" Ryan called-out. Matt only stuck his tongue out at him.

"I don't know if we'll have enough time for Disneyland, Ryan. We don't have Maker to buy us into the lines and we'll need time to rest afterwards." Mark made a pause to flit through the plans. "Our schedule is tight."

 

"Not as tight as Jack's ass."

 

Everyone turned to Matt with varying reactions. Ryan was laughing his ass off, Jack, although amused and laughing too, was basically Chinese flag-red, and Mark looked like Matt just desecrated his ancestors.

"What did I say about being rude to our guests? Jack, I'm sorry for them."

Once Ryan saw the look of absolute homicide in Mark's face, he ooh'd loudly. "Better watch your back, Mark."

"And by that, you mean...?"

Ryan only smirked and sunk deeper into his couch. "Nothing. Alright, no Disneyland. But maybe we can go to a water park or...?"

"Water park!" Jack agreed, desperate to move on. Was this a part of Matt's plan? Embarrass Jack to the grave? Truth be told, he's not excited to bare his grossly pale skin to the sun.

 

Mark mumbled something along the lines of "fine whatever" before getting up and making his way to his room. "Come on, let's get dressed for dinner outside. Italian or French?"

Ryan rolled out of the couch unto the floor. "How about Mexican?"

"I know what you're going for. We are _not_ celebrating Jack's arrival in Taco Bell. That's not even real Mexican food!"

"Yeah, Ryan." Jack sat on the floor and playfully swatted his arm. "I at least deserve McDonald's."

A chorus of laughter followed and the Irishman felt relieved to cause Mark to crack a smile. He was going to have a stern talk with Matt.

 

 

He got a leg through one of the his pants when a knock was heard. "H-Hold on!" He jumped awkwardly in order for his skinny jeans to rise faster.

The other side of the door held Mark, looking down on the floor. "Hey Jack. Ready to go?"

"Um, if you look up, you can maybe see that I'm not."

The pair locked eyes for a brief moment before Mark's eyes wandered down to see Jack's expanse of skin on his chest. His pants were still unbuttoned, Jack realized too late. Mark's eyes whipped back to anywhere but to Jack's half-bare form.

 

"R-Right."

"So uh, I'll be done in just-"

"I'm sorry about Matt. He crossed a line there. I'll tell him-"

Jack held out his hands, "Hey now. Don't worry about it. We say much worse stuff in our videos."

"Yeah, in our videos. Not in real life. We talk... provocatively... online because that's what the fans want." He ran a hand through his fiercely red hair.

 

The Irishman only shrugged his shoulders. "I don't mind if we 'talk provocatively' in real life. If that's what makes us comfortable."

"Y-You're sure? Because I can tell Matt if you-"

Jack brought a hand up to Mark's lips against his better judgement. He can feel his hot breath ghosting on his palm. "S-Shh. It's okay." He smiled. "Y'know what, help me pick a shirt."

 

Mark mirrored his smile and sashayed into the room, past Jack. "Good thing you're letting me pick because your sense of taste... leaves something to be desired." He teased.

His friend put a hand to his hip. "Oh is it?" He said, playing along.

The red-haired man only hummed in acknowledgement as he got on his knees in front of Jack's open luggage on the floor. He pushed around a few horribly folded shirts, making quiet gagging noises for added effect.

 

Mark stopped. "Is this... Why do you have the YouTube Christmas sweater? Did you forget where you were traveling to? It's hot as fuck." His words may have had bite, but his eyes were curious and bemused.

Jack was quick to defend, "Kevin told me to bring it! He wants to have an ironic Holiday greeting card, but in the summer."

Mark laughed. "Ah. That's cool. I wanna join."

"Ew, I don't want to ruin our precious greeting card with your face." The Irishman leaned back against the doorframe.

"Har har." Mark stuck his tongue out. He looked back at the sweater, pulling it out of the luggage by the sleeves, "Jesus, how small _is_ this? You're thin as f-" a small thumping sounded from the left of Mark.

 

He stopped. Jack stopped. Time stopped.

 

 

Jack's dildo fell out from the sweater and rolled onto the floor.


	18. Let's Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I was mourning the loss of my pet. But she wouldn't want me to be sad. She wants me to be happy, and I'm happy making all of you happy.
> 
> So here we go
> 
>  
> 
> Life doesn't stop for anybody

Ryan and Matt are basically conjoined at the hip, so Jack was left to sit next to Mark for the duration of the evening.

The cubicle of the Italian restaurant didn't leave enough elbow room so the two were forced to make contact frequently. The short skin-on-skin action felt cold and gave Jack goosebumps every time. Since ""it"" happened, they have not spoken or looked at each other.

Jack doesn't know what he'd prefer. How do you even look someone in the eye after a thing like that happens?

 

As the biggest "fuck you" of his life unraveled before his eyes, he saw Mark turn into a right shade of red. With all his confidence gone, he hurriedly put his ""things"" back into the luggage, pulled out a random shirt, gone up to Jack, gave it, and mumbled a short sorry before all but running away.

The Irishman feels as if he's still in some sort of septic shock. It was just so unreal. Now he knows for sure that whoever is controlling the universe is out to get him.

He pulled at the shirt Mark picked out for him to let some cool air touch his burning skin. It was his Rick and Morty shirt.

 

The dinner was just as awkward and quiet as the car ride going there. Save for Matt and Ryan's endless banter. Thank God for the pair, else Jack might actually take the fine silver fork in his hand and shove it down his throat.

 

What are you supposed to say when your crush sees the thing you use to stick up your butt and pleasure yourself with? Considering that this very thing is something he wishes were the actual penis of the aforementioned crush when he uses it?

But Jack, for all his dread, could only blame himself. Although Kevin was the one who led him to bring the sweater, it was he himself who came up with the bright idea to hide his dildo with them, and inadvertently bringing it with him through miles and miles of ocean.

 

The boys made quick work of their meal and excused themselves to check out the plaza outside.

 

Leaving Mark and Jack alone in a candlelit dinner.

 

 

A clatter of cutlery. "S-So..."

Jack, who jumped a little in his seat, looked to Mark, who had set his fork down. His pasta was unfinished.

"Should we talk about this, or...?"

Hell could open up and drop him in, and Jack would be grateful. He got defensive, "Let me just say-!" Yet Jack was immediately struck with Mark's intense gaze. Blue met brown.

 

Mark quirked his eyebrow, signaling Jack to go on.

 

"I-I'm not gay." His voice felt feeble. "I was... experimenting. I didn't mean to bring it with me here."

His friend seemed taken aback. Mark stared down at his spaghetti. "Oh. Okay." He cleared his throat, "Well I... accept you no matter what you like."

Fucking Mark. Fuck Mark and his perfect smile and good nature and his beautiful hair that burns in the candlelight and his sculpted abs and nice ass and-

"Thanks."

"No problem."

 

A cold wave of relief washed over him. He was hasty to stuff his mouth with some pasta, less he be compelled to ruin this moment by saying something stupid. Had it been anyone else, worse things may have happen. Maybe it's good thing that Mark was the one who he fell in love w-

 

"So... experimenting... When I saw those hickeys in you before, where those a man's work, then?"

 

The surprise caused him to choke.  
He was choking. Jack was choking.

He smacked his arm on the table and knocked over a glass of water. The pasta got lodged in throat and his last fleeting thought was going to be Jason? Fuck.

 

Suddenly, strong arms were around his chest and giving him the Heimlich maneuver. He felt the pressure push the pasta out his throat. He spat the half-chewed mush grossly back on his plate.

"Are you okay?!" Mark's frantic voice rung out, unbelievably close to his ear. It caused Jack to shiver.

"Yeah, I'm..." Jack turned to soothe Mark's worries and thank him for just saving his life, but...

 

Their noses were practically touching. Mark's arms had not left their place around his body. He was basically holding him. The American was position in such a way that Jack was all but sitting in his lap. Jack thought about shoving the pasta back in mouth and choking again. This was too much.

Thankfully, a waiter had noticed the near-death experience and rushed over to their table. Jack pushed himself away from his savior and tried to calm the waiter's worries and just asked him to put away the plates. He didn't feel like eating anymore. The man complied and cleaned the table promptly before leaving to fetch the bill.

 

Once, he left. Jack turned to Mark.

.  
"Th-Thanks... again..."

He seemed to snap out of a daze, but Mark nodded. The worried expression in his face was replaced with a teasing one. "So I take that as a yes? You _were_ getting it down with some hunk?"

 

Jack pressed his head on the table.

The sweet laughter of Mark rose. "You're cute when you're flustered."

Jack only further flushed red. The sensation of Mark's touch lingered around his body.


	19. Babygirl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double chapters woot woot!

After paying for the bill, (aka, fighting over who would pay it ((Mark won)) ) the two walked out into the cooler, night air. The atmosphere was lively, nonetheless, with people walking to and fro to where they need to be.

Ryan and Matt hadn't returned yet, so Mark saw it fit that they should go out to look for them. Jack couldn't help thinking Matt was stalling intentionally, because well...

 

A lovely nighttime stroll right after a candlelit dinner...?

This wasn't gay _at all_ , He bitterly thought.

 

The Korean-German seemed to be chipper now that they got over their awkward interaction. Well, "they" is more like Mark alone. Jack was still reeling. He saw his **dildo** for God's sake!

Still, he put his game face on and made the usual banter with Mark- as if he hadn't just found out he has a sex toy and snogged with another man.

 

"Hey Jack?" Mark perked up after a short moment of silence.

They were strolling aimlessly around the plaza, seeing tiny stalls selling knick knacks and restaurants lined up prettily. "Yeah?"

 

"This is a weirdly personal question, but..."

 

Blood rushed up to his ears. His heart was fit to beat out of his chest. "If you're gonna ask me if I'm top or bottom- ya can ferget it!"

Mark stopped in his tracks and had to cover his mouth to stop him from cackling. "Um... I wasn't? Defensive much, Twinky McGee?"

The Irishman was more than ready to punch Mark in his perfect straight teeth.

 

"What I was gonna ask you was..." He tried to straighten himself, "Why you're still in Ireland."

"Um, what?"

Mark ran a hand through his hair. "Wait, let me... rephrase that. You're YouTube career is going off and it'd be really cool if you lived closer to... y'know, other Youtubers and- and sponsors and whatever." He bit his lips in a way that TOTALLY didn't make Jack want to desperately swap spit with him. "In a business standpoint."

It was Jack's turn to play cocky. "Oh? You're sure it's not just because you miss me all the time?"

The American huffed, but the reddish tint of his neck was unmistakable. "Y-You wish."

Jack only continued to walk with a newfound confident gait. "Uh-huh." He taunted.

"I'm serious." Mark tried to catch up to him. "You could go to more conventions and actually be in YouTube rewind. You could be in so many videos too. Grumpcade, Matthias' sketches, YGS's, Bart Baker's parodies, Nerdy Nummies..."

 

Jack suddenly keeled over in a fit of giggles.

 

"Uh...?"

"Th-That fuckin' Wiggles parody." Jack had almost started crying at the memory of Mark in an obscenely tight purple turtleneck.

The ex-Wiggles member only grunted and hunched over his shoulders. "You're an ass."

Jack tried to stand straighter, but was wobbling, "I'm a _piece_ of ass, you mean?" 

"A _pain_ in my ass."

"Do you usually think about me in your ass?"

 

Jack has no idea when he had gotten so bold, but he couldn't let Mark get the last word. Though he was obviously flustered, he seemed to be gearing for a comeback. Then Jack tripped.

He fucking tripped and almost lost balance. His ankle had twisted awkwardly.

"Oh fuck me."

He could hear Mark behind him, "That an invitation?"

 

"Hey Mark! Sean!"

 

They looked to the pair of boys who were strolling toward them, bags of sweets in hand. Mark squinted, "Jack, you alright?"

He nodded and just explained he just went out of balance. Ryan offered him a macaroon from their stash to soothe his wounded pride. Jack accepted it gratefully and stuffed it in his mouth before he could say something stupid.

Jack knows very well he's been thinking about the convenience of moving to LA. But he wasn't gonna let Mark know that! Still, from the corner of his eye, he could see Mark looking to him, probably still waiting for his answer.

 

"Come on, let's go home before these sweets melt." Matt gestured to his stash.

The green-haired man whined petulantly like a child. "It's too early!" He squeaked.

"We can play video games when we get home." Mark had started walking in the general direction of the car park, twirling the keys in his finger. "Don't worry about it, you big _baby_."

 

Jack's stomach did a flip. "U-Uh?"

Everyone else already started to follow Mark's lead, leaving Jack dumbfounded and red in the face.

"Jack? You alright?" Ryan quarter-turned.

 

_**Babygirl.** _

 

His breath came out shaky. Jack only nodded and paced himself behind the other men.


	20. We Gonna Smash?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double chapters woot woot!

"Kirby?! Really?"

"Just you wait, Jackaboy. I'm gonna hand your ass back to you on this round."

"I find that hard t'believe." He scoffed as he chose Charizard.

The announcer voice declared battle and the two were thrust into an intense fight. Well, intense on the side of the screen. Mark and Jack were on the couch, blankets draped across them both, with cookie containers scattered on the floor. Ryan and Matt had already retired early.

Well... more like Matt made shifty eyes at Ryan to convince him they should both sleep early and leave the two alone. Their suspicious behavior may have been overlooked by Mark, but certainly not Jack who felt somewhere between grateful and betrayed.

 

Every so often, Mark's leg would brush against Jack's unshaven one and they just both try and ignore it.

 

"AAHHH!" Mark screeched as Charizard just flew out of arm's reach.

Jack honed in on the pink character, swiping away a good chunk of his health. Kirby's remaining life was too low for Mark's liking. "Ye're gonna lose!"

"How dare you! I'm not!" Mark huffed as he attempted to use his special move as a saving grace. However, Charizard was already gearing for another fire attack.

"God f-! GET IN MY MOUTH, DAMMIT."

With that, their match ended as Kirby was epically thrown offscreen.

 

The American was ready to start wailing on Jack for cheating, up until he felt nimble fingers land on his thigh. When he turned to face him, he sees Jack's face with a coy look on it.

"That an invitation?" He parroted.

 

Oh.

He could play along.

 

Mark scooted closer to the Irishman. "Only if you're up for me." He mimicked his movements and touched his upper thigh. Mark makes note of how soft his skin is without all the hair.

Jack huffed, not relenting in their gay-off. He curled his other hand around the slightly taller man's nape. "I've been ready fer a long time." His voice was breathy and accent thick.

Mark started to get into it. He hooked his hand under Jack's knee and hoisted his leg up to wrap around his waist. "Yeah?"

He didn't budge. "Yeh..." Jack moved in closer, pressing their bodies against one another...

 

Then they realized...

 

There was no audience.  
No cameras.  
No third party to laugh at their ridiculous antics.

 

There were just two grown men in their pajamas holding each other intimately in a darkened room, illuminated by Jack's win screen.

 

_Now is not the time for my penis to wake up_ , Jack mentally scolded himself.  
He was too scared to move or say a thing, less this paradise of being in Mark's arms be shattered. Then all of a sudden Mark's grip on his thigh went tighter.

The red-head moved closer, towards Jack's left ear. Their stubble scratched each other, causing the Irish-born's skin to feel like fire under his touch.  
The American's lips was an inch away from Jack's ear now, so much so he could hear every inhale and exhale.

 

Jack paled. Then Mark spoke...

 

 

"So what is it then? Top or bottom?"

Mark's face was met with a pillow as Jack unceremoniously shoved it in his stupid mug, angry and embarrassed.


	21. Too Much Of A Good Thing*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark talks about his "experiences".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahaha ha
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for all the support!

The two were wrestling for the past few minutes, tossing each other around on the couch to claim dominance over the other. Mark, the bigger of the two, was an expected winner, successfully turning Jack over and pining his arms behind his back. The smaller one wriggled under the weight, but already knew his defeat was foretold.

Jack whined underneath Mark, "Why are ya so fuckin' nosy about my sex life anyways?"

The taller man shifted his weight, allowing Jack to wiggle out. He shrugged, "I don't know. It's fun seeing you turn red- OW!"

Jack punched him on his bicep.

"Alright alright! It's nothing. Just trying to get a rise outta you." His deep voice turned soft, "Am I... making you uncomfortable though? I'll stop if I am."

Jack turned to him- he was still rubbing his arm at the spot where he got him. His eyes were downcast and pliant, a little sorry. It truly did matter to Mark if Jack was okay. It touched him. It was absolutely adorable.

 

Not like Jack was going to admit that.

 

He tried to feign nonchalance by looking to the tv screen, "I don't mind it. It's not as bad t'experiment than I thought it'd be."

"True that." Mark huffed. "Just try not to... uh, get outbalanced, yeah?"

"Outbalanced?"

"Yeah. You can't have too much of a good thing and all. Balance." Mark said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The Irishman made a sound of confusion and cocked his head. "How can being gay become 'too much of a good thing'?"

Mark seemed to mull over his thoughts while reaching for a bag of chips on the floor.

 

"Uh... Rectal prolapse, I guess? Oh! Ever heard of a guy named Freddy Mercury? Bet'cha you can learn a lot from his story."

"Har har." Jack mocked, eyebrow raised, "I get it. But... hey, at least the world's more open to stuff... like that now."

Mark popped a few chips in his mouth. "That's right. People weren't so cool about it since I tried it last."

 

_since I tried it last_

 

"T-Tried it last?" Jack echoed, voice trembling.

Mark seemed to have realized his mistake. His back shot up straight. Jack couldn't believe it... It couldn't be true...

"What... So you mean...?"

"What do you mean what do I mean?" Mark mumbled incoherently. But a tinge of panic was making its way into his actions. He was twitching.

 

Jack leaned in closer, whispering almost conspiratorially, "Did you... take it up th'ass?"

Mark shoved him away with his elbow and shot him a look that said 'No, dumbass'. Except the impact of the expression was lessened due to his mouthful of chips.

 

The Irishman hummed, leaning back on the armrest. Mark was hiding something juicy.   
"Did you like- kiss a dude or somethin'?"

 

Mark only quickened the pace he shoved food in his already-full mouth.

 

Jack felt my chest crumble. This couldn't be real, surely? Some inklings of jealousy shot up in his nerves. "No fuckin' way... MARKIPLIER KISSED A MA-"

 

All at once, the man in question threw himself forward to stop Jack from completing that sentence with a hand to his big Irish mouth, chips falling from his jaw onto their laps. "Shut up!" His voice sounded too shrill.

Jack couldn't contain his laughter and convulsed underneath Mark, who gave off deathly glares.

"It was ONE time." Mark huffed, softer now, more vulnerable. "It was- like, It just sort of happened? It was like I- AAAIIIYEEE!"

Jack's tongue darted out and he licked Mark's palm to get it off of him. The American pulled back and growled, wiping the slobber on Jack's shirt. "You're disgusting."

 

"And ye're bi-curious!"

 

Mark's tense silence only confirmed his suspicions. Jack's heart began to rise. He couldn't help the wide grin that appeared on his face.  
"What that look for?" Spoke Mark, bemused but also a little irritated

Jack only shook his head, giddy and excited.

"I don't suppose you're hankering to get in line?"

The green-haired man rolled over onto his stomach on the couch, his face on the armrest. He just couldn't contain himself. He felt like a schoolboy. "Get in line where? To get a piece from you? Sorry, I don't have enough money t'buy it."

 

Mark expressed his annoyance of being accused of prostitution by smacking Jack's ass.

 

"AYY! You perv!" Jack screeched, turning now to hide his now-sore rear from Mark. He scowled, but he was sure he was red in the face. His pale skin still stung with a...   
delicious kind of pain.

 

"Don't make this weird!" Mark scolded, sour.

"Excuse me, **I'm** making this weird? You're the one fuckin' just surprising me with all this sexuality stuff!"

"You did it first!"

"I-!" Any words of defense died on his lips. "Ah. Right." 

 

Mark puffed out his chest triumphantly, going so far as to flew his muscles. Jack had to look away to stop himself for drooling.

"What? S-So you want a congratulatory kiss 'er something...?" Jack snapped off-handedly, expecting some sort of retort.  
Yet, all he was met with was silence. The temperature dropped what felt like 30°.

 

 

"Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"I never had a kiss from a man before."

"But you got hickies from one?"

"..."

"Okay, questionable life choices, but go on..."

"So like, how... is it completely different?"

"It's... rougher. Beards and stubble and all. But I actually think guys' lips are softer than girls'."

"Is that right?"

"In my experience."

"What constitutes as yer experience?

"One or two."

"Mhm."

"Maybe three, if you want to join."

 

Jack turned towards his friend, mouth a little open.

Mark seemed to take note and immediately lost his cool. He threw his hands up exasperatedly, "Can't two bros just kiss each other and not make it weird?"


	22. Introduction to Kissing Boys 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mark kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's not beat around the bush. It took 22 chapters for us to get to this point, so HERE. A goddamn kiss. I hope ya'll are happy.
> 
> 1000 points to whoever can guess what might happen next.
> 
>  
> 
> Side note: to the commentor who keeps using the word "rape" laxly in reference to expectations in the plot and then accusing me of being too serious when I ask them to stop that- stop.

Everything leading up to the kiss blurred. All banter and defensiveness, accusations and teasing...  
Somehow, Mark had agreed to be Jack's "introduction to kissing boys 101", all the while Jack trying to fight back the stroke he was certain he was about to have.

 

How exactly did it come to this? Jack couldn't remember. It'd didn't matter anyways. His brain sputtered to a halt when their lips pressed against one another.

 

It was chaste.  
Sweet.  
Innocent and exploratory.

 

Any lustful intent Jack had quickly dissipated. The kiss was too surreal and full of good intentions for his dick to start getting in the way of his head.

Except that train of though started to go in reverse when Mark leaned even deeper and start to bite at his lower lip gently. He tasted like salt from the chips. His stubble did, in fact, tickle. There were a million little things Jack could take in but he would definitely get sensory overload if he tried to catalogue all these intricacies.

Instead, Jack just enjoys this fleeting moment. For however long it may last.

 

Their teeth awkwardly clacked together. It was blatant that this was a first kiss. Jack would have made a snarky one-liner about it if he wasn't too busy sucking face with his hero, Markiplier.

This was his friend. Someone he truly cares about and loves with all he has. His chest seemed to expand at the thought. Any doubt of his demisexuality was gone. He would endure all the Camp Rock jokes Matt could throw at him if it meant he would finally feel right in his identity.

Jack felt home.

 

But good things come to an end.

 

All too soon, Mark pulls away, leaving Jack thirsty in the best of ways. Longing for something more, Jack pushed forward, only to be met with Mark's hand on his chest, inhibiting him from leaning forward any more.

The Irishman felt all too vulnerable, knowingly being scrutinized and possibly judged for his desperation. Whatever happened to "playing it cool"?  
This was just a bro helping a bro out. It's not weird or romantic or sexual at the very least. Just good ol' platonic favors.

 

It didn't mean anything, Jack had to remind himself.

 

He looked up to see Mark's eyes, full of warmth but also calculating somehow. They were searching his for something- what that could be, he wouldn't know.

 

Before Jack could make a sound or tell Mark that his leg was kinda falling asleep in this position, the American closed their distance once more- a quick peck this time, not lingering, to Jack's malcontent.  
It was like a signature in a way, a "to be continued" at the end of a novel.

 

Pray to God there was a sequel.

 

Mark's movements were all to quick, standing from the couch and saying goodnight before exiting. His form disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.  
Jack was left confused.  
Lovesick.  
Emotional.  
But mildly horny.

Although the session was dubbed as "bros being pals", it felt understood that something was there. Mark felt something- it may not be a lot- but it was there. Sure enough, he could just be wistfully being sentimental about his past relationships... But Jack chose to forgo those doubts.  
If Mark wanted to experiment again, then he should take advantage of that gleaming opportunity.

 

And if that aforementioned window of opportunity only lasted for the remainder of his days here in LA, then it was a pleasure to partake in getting it on with Markiplier.

 

He had hope. That's all that mattered.

His leg was also asleep. That decidedly mattered to some degree. Jack carefully pulled his limb out from underneath him to stretch it out.

 

The objective was no longer to seduce Mark Fischbach.

It was to have him love Jack back.

The probability of that miracle seemed to increase slowly but surely with every passing moment they share.

He could make this work. He shut off the tv, basking in the darkness that he was plunged in.

 

 

 

Sleep came easy and Jack awoke much too early. Blame it on the times zones. He rolled out of his guest bed and made some coffee for himself in the kitchen. Jack was hoping for some Irish coffee, but considering Mark had a new ban on liquor, he just settled on plain.

He wasn't drunk enough to be recollecting last night, he decided.

 

A soft object nudged his knee, he looked down to see Lego sniffing at him. "Hey there. Where's Chica?" Jack asked in a hushed tone.

The dog only tilted his head and then trotted off to some new adventure. Jack smiled. Oh how he wished he could have a pet of his own, but his apartment and lifestyle didn't allow for it. Another reason he'd want to be moving out.

It occurs to Jack he never did answer Mark's questions about moving closer to all the other Youtubers.

 

"Hey."

The Irishman snapped out of his daze and looked up to see Ryan standing in the center of the room, scratching his stomach.

"Top o' the morning, laddie." He greeted, thickening his accent.

The man fought back a giggle, walking past the couch where Jack sat on into the kitchen. "How was sleep?"

"Short." He snorted, watching Lego return from the corner and start rubbing himself against Ryan's legs.

"Lego, Lego no." Ryan mumbled, trying to push his friend away to let him walk. "Oh. Well you'll get used to the time zone eventually, right?"

"Yep." He took a quick sip at his mug. "I made some coffee, if you want."

 

Ryan turned dramatically, and started to stare before he pressed his hand to his chest. "My hero."

"All I did wos make coffee, dude." Jack snorted into his cup.

"You'd be surprised how much of a blessing that is in this household. We're all children who pay taxes in here." Ryan retrieved a black mug that said "jackass" on it from the cupboard.

"It that th'new Kids With Problems spin-off channel? Children Who Pay Taxes?"

Ryan stifled his laughter to keep himself from waking the other tenants of the house. "You know what? It could be. Maybe you could join us in that goldmine of an idea."

"Ya act like I'm staying here indefinitely."

The taller man dragged his mug closer to his lips and took tentative drinks. "We can dream." He said to his cup.

 

Before Jack could interject, Ryan looked over the counter and took note of the bags of snacks that littered the living room floor. "Aw man, did you guys eat all the chips?!"

"Uh..." Jack started to chug his coffee to keep himself from having to speak. A move he took from Mark from the previous night.

 

Ryan huffed, "Look, bro. What's mine is yours- mikasa esu casa and all-"

"This isn't Attack on Titan. It's 'mi casa' not Mik-"

"-but those were the snacks we're supposed to bring for the grumps party tonight!"

 

The lime-haired man hunched his shoulders. "Oh. I'm so sorry."

Ryan scrubbed his face, "Don't worry about it, just-" he paused, "Just go wake up Mark."

"Wh-Why?!"

Lego nudged between Ryan's legs. He bent over to pet him behind the ear, not looking at Jack now, "Because you guys are driving to the grocery and picking up some snacks."


	23. Early Morning Nonsense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mark go to get chips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your pain pleases me.

"Shotgun!"

"You don't have to call shotgun, you're literally the only other passenger."

 

Jack slid inside the passenger seat and boo'd. "Someone's cranky."

"Yeah no kidding. _You_ woke me up." Mark sat himself down on the driver's seat and adjusted his rearview mirror.

"Don't pin this on me! You're th'one who couldn't stop snacking last night."

"Well I wouldn't be snacking so much if you weren't-" Mark's voice trailed off. He started the car.

The green-haired man smirked, "If I weren't...?"

Mark didn't reply. He turned to reverse out of the driveway and started on towards the grocery. Jack tried to nudge him, but the driver stayed resilient on keeping quiet. The Irish-born grumbled, but eventually left him alone.

Truth is, he wasn't quite ready for that conversation anymore than Mark might be. He watched houses flit by through his window.

 

Eventually, Mark spoke, "Be useful and turn on Waze for me, will you?"

Jack turned towards the dashboard, he then searched the compartments in silence before he quirked his brow, "Um, where's your phone?"

Mark quickly glanced forward before keeping his attention on the road. "Oh. It's still in my pocket. Get it for me."

"Where?"

Mark jutted his hip forward. "Back pocket."

 

Icy blue eyes blinked hard.

 

The man in the driver's seat peeked at his passenger, who remained quiet. His half-asleep voice was scratchy and (unfortunately) sexy as hell,  
"What? I thought you'd be more excited to get the chance to cop my junk."

Jack turned red and bit his inner cheek. Mark was playing him and he didn't like it all.  
I mean, definitely, he's more than willing to get a feel, but he won't be the submissive one in this... dynamic, or whatever it was.  
"I thought we weren't supposed t'make this weird, huh?" Jack spat.

"There's nothing weird about bros just platonically touching-"

"Oh don't start with that again." The Irishman rolled his eyes.

Mark leaned a little in his seat, mumbling quietly, "Says the pot to the kettle."

Jack narrowed his eyes dangerously, "What's that supposed t'mean?" Mark was taking this too far.

 

When came no reply, Jack only grit his teeth and crossed his arms. He grabbed for the aux cord in between them.  
Mark took notice of his friend fiddling with the wires, "Wha'cha doing there, Jackaboy?"

"Music. So I don't have t'listen to yer early morning nonsense." Jack huffed, selecting a random track.

"I wasn't even sp-" Some grungy music began playing in the car. "Aw c'mon. Don't be like this." Mark whined. But Jack was too engrossed in a sick drum solo to pay him any mind.

 

Defeated, he pulled out his own phone and tried to juggle driving with typing. Eventually, he was able to type in the address of the nearest, but most desolate grocery after 4 typos. It was too early to be recognized by fans, especially doing something as domestic as grocery shopping with someone his subscribers have wanted him to have sex with since forever ago.  
It's not good for his image. Especially because he was still in his pajama shorts with his red hair mussed up in an unflattering way.

 

4 unidentifiable songs later, Mark pulled up in front of a shady grocery. "Hey." Mark tapped Jack's shoulder. He jumped at the sudden contact, having not noticed arriving at their destination.

"Buy the chips, alright? I'll wait out here."

Jack didn't take this sitting down. Well, I mean, he was sitting down on the seat, but... "What do you mean you'll wait out here? Why do I have t'do all th'work?"

 

Mark silently gestured to his ratty basketball shorts.

 

The Irishman wouldn't dare admit he stared a little longer at his crotch than socially acceptable, but since he had to try so hard in order to look away, it'd be useless to try to deny it. "No way."

The American batted his eyelashes prettily, "For me?" He stuck out his lower lip.  
Jack didn't budge, and in fact, only for more irritated.

 

"Aw c'mon, let this be payment for yesterday."

 

He whipped his head around. A certain annoyance started to start up in his gut, "Payment?! What, like I owe you for that?" He didn't dare believe that Mark was pitying him. He wouldn't allow it. "Look, it was- it was a no-strings-attached favor from a friend to a friend."

"Jack..."

He only began to flare up harder, flustered now by Mark's baritone. "It meant nothing!" Jack lied. He threw open the door, but quickly halted. He was acting like a child, he realized, catching himself now.

 

Too embarrassed to turn around, he tried for a softer approach. "I don't want t'hear you did that for jus' because ya felt sorry, o-or like you had t'..." He clutched the door handle tighter.  
Jack may have discovered a sense of belonging with Mark, but that didn't break even for the pride he may need to give up. He wasn't going to stoop down just for someone to love him back, decidedly.

Perhaps the night before was hazy with lovesickness. Jack entertained the thoughts: he could have just been kidding himself. Yesterday was one-night stand of kissing. Mark couldn't possibly feel anything more than just friendship for Jack. Now he was just playing him.  
The Irish-born sneered, "I don't want any misunderstandings. I don't like you _that_ way."

"Oh."

Jack had to keep his resolve and refrain from turning around taking Mark in his arms. A hot wash of anger mixed with jealousy and pain bathed him.

"Are you... sure?"

Jack jumped out of his seat unto the pavement, saying a yes before slamming the door behind him.

 

He had no idea what he would be plunged into upon his return.


	24. Mistakes Were Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack misses his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats to the commentor who found me out! Holla!

Was he overreacting? Maybe.  
Was he justified? Absolutely.

 

Mark was being a grade-A dick. And not in the good way either. Jack grabbed a few Doritos off the shelf. They made a few cracking sounds under his tight grip.

It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt. Jack was the last person to ever admit being affected by something trivial, he prided himself on being a chillaxed kind of guy.  
But Goddammit, Mark was knowingly teasing him of his attraction like a carrot on a stick, and he didn't take it lightly. He wasn't some toy for Mark to play around with! The Irishman had too much self-respect to let him be walked on just for a couple kisses and a good lay.

Jack reached for some Frito Lay's. The only kind of lays he'll be getting due to his outburst.

 

Sure, Mark was full of good intentions. Jack forgives him, of course. But he's definitely not going to take this lying down. He has to set some sort of boundaries on what they can and can't joke about.  
It was getting too personal. This was what Jack feared the most.  
When does joking stop being joking anyways? When did witty banter about being gay actually become being gay?

The American is giving him a place to stay, company and food. The least he could do was just let it slide for now.

 

But it was starting to hurt.

All the taunting was like a big "fuck you" to Jack. A big "haha, in your dreams"-level schoolyard bullying. His blue eyes began to wet.

 

Was there any salvaging this? He outright proclaimed he didn't hold any feelings for his friend- something so obviously untrue. But what if Mark believes this? What if he lays off with the teasing and their progress remains stagnant?

It was a double-edged sword. Jack wondered if he could just step inside the freezer doors holding all the frozen goods and wake up 100 years later where everything eventually fixed itself.

 

Jack pat his pants down for his phone. Anything to distract him from the headache-inducing conundrum he's in right now. However the only thing in his jeans were a few peanut wrappers and a few coins.

Right. He left it playing in Mark's car. He truly is alone, after all.  
There were barely any people. Which was good, considering some tears began to slip. But it was bad because oh God I could be mugged at any moment and he doesn't have a phone to call for help.

 

Upon this paranoid thought, Jack hastened to the self-checkout and got all his snacks in a paper bag (it's good for the environment!) and jettisoned.

 

The walk from the grocery doors to Mark's car was the longest 20 yards of his life. What would he even say? Should he apologize or wait for Mark to apologize first? He didn't want to seem too forward. He wanted to make a point, but not drive Mark away.

 

Coming to LA was a mistake, Jack gnawed at his lower lip.

 

Once near, Jack heard the click of the handles and balances the two paper bags he was carrying under an arm so that he could pull open the car door. He threw the bags to the car floor and slid inside, expecting the worst.

Mark was only looking forward, not even acknowledging his passenger. Jack felt his stomach turn sour. There was some noise in the background, but he thought nothing of it.

 

"Mark, I-"

 

The redhead turned to him, his cheeks were tinged pink, but his face remained stoic.

"Listen, I just wanted to say that..." What did Jack even want to say? Shit. He didn't know. The weird background sounds continued to play. Mark already had started the car and began to drive.

 

"Mark," he tried a second time, since the driver still wasn't saying or doing anything.  
This time, the man in question raised his index finger to his lips. A smile broke out, but he was trying to hold it down.

Jack furrowed his brows in perplex. He kept his mouth shut then, wondering why Mark wanted silence.

 

Then he heard it. Through the speakers... Jack's blood ran cold like ice. He wonders what he did to possibly deserve this goddamn travesty.

 

 

 

_"You don't know what it feels like to... to want you. You're so fucking beautif- FUCK. Ugh. I bet you feel so good. You with that tight, beautiful ass. I can't stop thinking about you."_

 

 

 

Mark broke his own silence, "What was that you said about not having feelings for me?"


	25. Dick Moves*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mark drive home from the grocery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the overwhelmingly positive feedback. It's my pride and joy to be sinful and convert others to sinfulness.  
> Please note that I do, in fact, read all your comments. If you guys wanna ask me stuff, just post "MARIA ANSWER THIS:" so I'll be sure to reply.
> 
> A big shoutout to homie razorbladecass who is my sun and moon.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this shitstorm.

Jack's first impulse was to get his phone the fuck away from the goddamn speaker, where every breathy moan and sweet whimper was amplified all around him, causing his skin to feel like fireworks were being set on them.  
He would gladly gnaw off the cord if it came to it.

To his chagrin, Mark made that impossible.  
The American place his phone right between his thighs, pressing against his crotch. It wasn't possible to take his phone back without inadvertently becoming well-versed with the front of Markiplier's jeans.

It was a dick move.  
Literally.

 

Why was the world out to get him? First the fucking dildo and now this catastrophe... Jack shouldn't probably ever leave the house if this is the brand of misfortune that's lurking around the corner.

 

To make matters worse, the douchebag was practically reveling in making Jack eat his own words. He beamed the whole way home, unflinchingly. You could see how happy he was from a mile away, from his pink, bubbly aura alone.

He had no idea when he had fallen into this circle of hell, but here he is now.

 

Jack wanted to grab the aux cord and strangle Mark shortly before having to strangle himself.  
Instead, he retained some calm (whatever he could possibly scavenge from the depths of his hollow soul), and just kept intently staring at his handle and wondered if he could survive if he jumped out of the car now.  
With the sexy groaning in the background, he was being thoroughly convinced to pull through with that plan.

After a particularly loud grunt, Jack couldn't take it and had to say something- ANYTHING.

 

"Wh-Why are you still playing it...?" His throat betrayed him, as his voice came out feeble and weak. Everything was getting too much to just stay here and do or say nothing at all.

His grin didn't waver from what Jack could see out of the corner of his eyes. Lord knows he had no esteem left to actually look the man head-on. "I want to listen to everything."

Jack balled up his fists. "But why?! Y-Ya made yer point!" The Irishman had to turn the other way, "So why th'torture?"

 

"I want to know what you masturbate to."

 

The word sounded so sinful and delectable in Mark's rumbling baritone. It almost felt like the act itself. Jack had to balance the groceries on his lap just so his friend wouldn't taunt him any more, with his erection and all.

Mark ran a hand through his hair, continuing, "I want to understand what it is you touch yourself to, what you think of me saying and doing while you bring yourself to climax... I want to know what drives you-"

 

Mark's words and the breathy sex noises in the background made an orchestra that Jack's cock was absolutely basking in. The green-haired lad couldn't stop fidgeting in his seat. "Fine! I get it!" He interrupted. He buried his red face in his hands, "I like you!"

He felt the world slow down around him at his confession. Was this really how he was going to profess his love? With porn playing in the background?!

 

His friend only stared at him in faux-surprised. "No..." He faked, acting shocked. "I had no idea!" Mark brought his hand up to his chest.

"Shut th'fucking fuck up, you fucking fuck."

"Looks like you're thinking a lot about fucking, Jack. I wonder why that is." Mark drove his point across by reaching forward and turning the dial for the volume. The added bass emphasized the particularly wet, squelching sounds of faux-Mark pleasuring himself.

 

Jack felt like he'd melt from sheer shame and just become one with the upholstery.

 

He'd get his revenge somehow. All Jack could ever want at this moment was to wipe the stupid look off of Mark's face.

"I like you too."

Jack whipped his head around.

"Well, what I mean to say is... You've piqued my curiosity, my... um, bi-curiosity." The driver tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the voice actor's thrusts.

 

"Wot're ye trying t'say?" The green-haired man could believe what Mark might be implying.

But his friend was still a douchebag. Instead of a reply, he darted his tongue out to wet his upper lip- slowly. Jack watched, tense and knuckles white from gripping his chair tightly in anticipation of what bullshittery Mark is contouring up.

 

Mark seems to focus for a few moments before joining in on the background noises. He feigned pleasure, and released staggering breaths and high-pitched whines, in time with the ones he can hear.

Jack was ready to jump out now and go roll around in traffic.

The redhead let out a particularly deep exhale, his eyebrows knitted together, face contorted in fake ecstasy. Still, he wasn't looking at anywhere else but the road.

"J-Jack~" He whined. Oh. Jack's erection was definitely loving that. His toes curled.

 

Don't tell him he didn't at least try to refrain. He tried.

Images flitted before his eyes, but this time, even more vivid since he was personally being supplied with vocal fodder.

Mark on the floor. Mark on his knees. Mark against a wall. Mark on the counter. Mark upside down. Mark tied up. Make under a table. Mark pushing against him.  
Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark.

 

Mark thrust his hips a little in his seat. He was 100% into giving Jack the worst/best time of his life. He squeaked a little, chanting a soft "yes yes yes" as if he was having a good wank right now- something Jack desperately needs. His heart was running a mile a minute at this rate. His dull nails dug into the seat below him. Jack was going to combust, he just knew it.

 

All too soon, Jack realized they were already in their neighborhood and Mark was already steering into the driveway, his noises softer now and less frequent.

As the car came to a halt, gratefully, Mark took pity and shut off the "music".

The two sat in awkward silence for what felt like an eternity, but was actually just a few seconds, while Jack was trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. It was taking too much effort to still his beating heart.

 

"So hey!" Mark spoke happily, as if he just wasn't being the worst cocktease ever. "Glad to go grocery shopping with you, Jack!"

Oh fuck no. He wasn't going to let Mark act like this just didn't happen and his dick isn't absolute twitching in his too-tight jeans.

"I hope you enjoyed my contribution to your spank bank." Mark took out his keys and opened his door.  
"Maybe then you don't have to rely on imitations and you can... find pleasure in the real thing." His voice had a saucy lilt to it that Jack's conscience detested at this very moment- he wanted to SIN. _Badly_.

 

Before the Irishman could react, Mark shut the door behind him and sashayed in front of the car and to the front door, leaving Jack in the car. Alone. With all the groceries. And a boner.  
Fuck Mark Fischbach.

Looking through the windshield, it was apparent that Mark was purposely shaking his hips a little in his gait. You could even say he was strutting, as if he knew he was being watched and decided to give a show. The Irish-born had to pray to Jesus for some strength to carry on.  
This was turning out to be the most ego-shattering endeavor in his life.

 

 

Who knew getting Mark to lay you with cause so much collateral damage?

 

 

He took the groceries and exited the car in utter shame, somehow excited for what's to come, despite himself. This was going to be a long vacation.  
The Irishman tried to clear his head. He took the paper bags out of the car, situating them in front of his groin area in order to retain some decency. Mark left his phone behind, and he shoved it in his pocket forcefully. He'd opt to rather throw it really hard against a wall.

Jack spared a last once-over to make sure he didn't forget anything. Satisfied, he went on his way to the house. The poor soul was definitely unprepared for what shitstorm could happen next.

 

However, they _did_ forget something.

Mark forgot to fill up the gas.


	26. Luck Of The Irish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's luck turns around

"Mark, we need t'talk."

"I'mm short'ff in th' miduww of s'mth'." Mark spat down the sink, and washed his toothbrush.

Jack stuck his head out in the hallway to make sure the coast was clear before shutting the door behind him. When he looked back, Mark looked alarmed, with his beard still wet.

 

"Um...?"

"What th'fook was _that_?!"

"It was Korean-style barbecue. Did you not like it?" The man looked sincerely disappointed, his lower lip stuck out in a pout.

Jack groaned inwardly. "No! It wos great, ya taught th'guys well." The Irishman pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I'm talking about th'thing in th' car!"

 

Right after the two had returned for their grocery trip, Jack retreated to his guest room to take care of his "problem" and calm himself down... maybe figure out what the fuck just happened. He kept to himself mostly during the day, for one because he was too embarrassed to show his face in the light of day, but also his libido had spiked a little after Mark's "contribution".  
He off-handedly called to the boys to leave for a while because he was still reeling from the jet lag— which was something not entirely made-up.

Jack was still caught in some weird limbo where he was both convinced and unconvinced that his idol returned his romantic (and sexual) affection.  
Mark had been obviously having a ball playing him. Although Mark Fischbach was a 100% verified cinnamon roll that loves and care about every living person, Jack wouldn't necessarily put it past him to be having the time of his life taunting his friend for having gay feelings for him.

The Irishman, for the second time that day, and with more sincerity, scolded his past-self for making the decision to visit Mark in LA.

 

Later, at noon, Matt knocked on his door telling him that lunch was already prepared.  
Ryan and Matt had been cooking some of Mark's traditional family recipes while they were away, and the pair was just so wholesome and sweet that Jack overlooked his sexual frustration in favor of being a good house guest. The boys were beaming and sharing triumphant looks whenever Jack and Mark complimented their work.

But now lunch was done and he had to get things in order before it ate him up from the inside.

 

"Oh." Mark set his toothbrush down next to sink calmly. "What about it?"

"WHAT ABOUT IT?!" Jack almost screeched, not believing how chill Mark was being right now. He had to resist smacking his friend upside the head. Jack rubbed his temples. "Don't play coy with me, Fischbach."

 

He looked up to see a twinkle in his friend's brown eyes. He seemed to breathe deeply, wringing his hands together. "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Alright." Mark nodded solemnly.  
"You deserve an explanation." He offered a small smile. He continued, "Yeah, I know about my quote-unquote 'sound-alike'. I go on tumblr too, y'know." Mark turned to the bathroom mirror and ran a hand through his locks, preening himself like a rooster with the red hair and all.

 

"O-Oh." Was all Jack could bear to say. But inside his head, a million thoughts were running throwing his mind.

So all this time, Mark was aware of his vocal doppelgänger. This was probably why, when he heard Jack's audio porn, he identified it right away; putting 2 and 2 together to figure out Jack must have the hots for him if he kept it in his phone.

 

The paranoid thought leeched itself into Jack's brain. It couldn't be... Could it?  
The green-haired boy kept his gaze fixed on Mark, "Wait, ye're not... Are ya...?"

Mark seemed to pick up on what he was trying to imply and immediately looked affronted, "What?! No!" He took a second to modulate his voice, "Jesus! You think I'd pull a stunt like that? What for?"

 

Jack silently, but theatrically shrugged, letting his hands speak for himself.

 

At least Mark looked amused by the situation, looking positively charmed by Jack's behavior. He let out a deep sigh, facing the mirror again, "No, I'm not Mr. Bourbon-underscore-Neat." Mark announced.  
"I _do_ , however, know about him because people will NOT stop talking about it and tagging me." He put on a sour expression, "Which I understand but DON'T condone. Like, keep that stuff out of the main tags, right?"

 

Jack could only offer an apologetic look. He knew of his troubles.  
The Jacksepticeye fandom was always relatively calmer than Markiplier's. I mean, people were getting a high sending Mark nudes of themselves! There was even that scandal that one time with that girl, and people just chose to not ever bring it up. It was why he turned off DMs and his Snapchat was made private.

 

"Anyways," Mark continued, "Now that your thing's been settled..." The man leaned forward on the counter, resting his palms in it. The asshole flashed Jack a pearly white smile. "Will you entertain _my_ questions?"

 

Jack's heart was fit to beat out of his chest.

 

Mark walked a little closer to the him, such that he could smell the minty fresh breath he has after just brushing his teeth. "So... You heard my story. Let me hear how YOU found out about my sound-alike."

The lad had every intention to bust out of the bathroom and just make a run for it.

 

Seeing his anxious expression, Mark took a step back to let him have some air. He placed a strong hand on Jack's shoulder and made little soothing circles in his skin with his thumb, coaxing answers out of him.

Although Jack knew very well he was hankering for a confession just to tease him about it later, he knew his friend at least deserved to know the truth. The green-haired braced himself. "It was an accident. I jus' found it and thought it'd be funny and I could joke to you about it."  
The Irishman leaned against the doorway, muttering now, "Th-Then... feelings happened."

 

The redhead's face contorted to something akin to being flattered, being surprised, and being a smug asshat. Before he could say anything, a knock resounded-

"Mark?" Ryan called out through the other side of the door.

Panic rose between the two. They shared a look of distress. Wordlessly, Jack walked past Mark and jumped inside the empty tub, curled up in a fetal position, and drew the curtains to hide himself.

 

"Y-Yeah, come in, Ryan." The Irish-born could hear Mark stutter out. The door creaked open.

"Hey Mark... I was putting all the stuff we're gonna bring to the party in the car, including the ice cream..." Ryan said slowly, "I wanted to turn on the AC so it wouldn't melt, but uh..."

"But...?"

"You forgot to get some gas."

 

 

 

Eventually, Ryan got Mark to follow him outside to their car. Jack found his opportunity to safely escape the bathroom to his guest bedroom with none the wiser. The Irishman simply pretended to be surprised when Matt came looking for him and said they had a problem.

But oh, Jack's scolding was genuine. He just KNEW Mark was so caught up in being a cocktease earlier to pay attention to the needle on the dashboard that warned them of a nearly-empty tank.

It was too late in the day to hold any hope for some gas delivery. Instead, Mark decided to dial up Dan and Barry, who they were hoping hadn't left yet.

 

The four were outside, huddled together while the sky turned into a vibrant orange overhead. Mark was biting his nail while awaiting for Barry to pick up his phone.

Ryan, ever the worried eater, had already started munching on the chips they just bought due to his restlessness. Although Matt had shot him a dirty look, he'd occasionally reach a slender hand into the bag of Doritos.

 

Jack just leaned against the car, holding all of the souvenirs he bought for the Grumps in his arms. He just couldn't believe that he might miss out on meeting his friends again. If there was any good thing to look forward to on this trip, with what the luck he was having with Mark, it was reuniting with the Grumps. They seemed too busy in the following days to reschedule their get-together.

Mark was to blame.

Stupid, sexy Mark.

Jack was giving retribution- somehow.

 

"Hello, y- Barry! Oh thank God."

At that instant, the other three gathered around Mark to listen on the one-sided conversation.

"We have a problem... Well, I have a problem. I forgot to gas up the car and it won't be enough to get us to the grumpspace. Do you think you- yes, I'm sorry. I forgot. I should've been more responsible. B-... Barry, you're not my mom. Yes, yes..."

Mark glared at his three friends, who were hiding their laughter.

"Yep, so- Barry, Barry. We need a ride. Have you and Dan left yet? No? Oh thank God... Would it be too much if we... I'm sorry? Well it's me, Jack, Ryan and Matt, so... oh."

The three watched as their friend worriedly looked between them. He put his hand against the receiver, "Guys, we... um, there's only space for 3 people in the car. I guess one of us has to be left behind."

 

Ryan adamantly kicked a stone on the ground, "Shit. I guess... I guess I'm taking one for the team.

"No. I'm the one who forgot to refill the gas. It's my mistake and you shouldn't suffer for it. I know how much you like to party too." Mark gave a cut little wry smile that made Jack want to cuddle him.

 

But the opportunity had been realized.

 

"Hey, I have an idea!"

Mark, Matt and Ryan looked towards their guest.

"We can all fit if I just sit on one o' yer laps, because I'm- unfortunately- th'smallest." Jack watched his friends raise their eyebrows in unison, "Mark, since it wos yer fault, you'll have t'be th'one carrying me. Agreed?"

It was plain to see that Mark, in fact, did not agree. But the happy looks that graced Matt and Ryan's faces made the decision for him.

 

It was going to be a long night.


	27. Global Warming*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack had a car ride with his friends Mark, Barry, Danny, Matt, and Ryan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof. Almost 30 chapters and the action is far from getting started.  
> I feel really bad about endlessly writing chapters that are just plot plot plot, but I really need it to build things up into the climax (wink wink). This story is far from over.
> 
> So here's freebie. Because ya'll've been such good darlings, I put this chapter into one instead of cutting it in half. Have fun!

The trip to the grumpspace was a good hour or so. The sun was low in the horizon by now and cashed long shadows across the highway they were in.

The group was relatively calm, telling short stories here and there. Danny and Barry, although they kept teasing Mark, was happy for some newfound company.  
Surprise, surprise, but Jack actually found some comfort sitting on Mark's lap. Despite his former hesitation, the American never brought it up after the first time, and acted normally as if he hadn't had a lapful of Irish ass.

Jack was hoping for some discomfort, embarrassment... anything that would him feel less powerless when facing-off against his asshole of a friend. Anything at all that he could taunt him with, is what the Irish-born was holding out for.

 

And lo and behold...

 

They exited the highway into a rougher road that branched off. The pavement was jock full of pot holes, Barry whined. So much so that he couldn't swerve from all of them. Danny made quick work of literally pointing out every single fault in the way, but mostly for fun, opting to just chat with Ryan.  
Matt, sound asleep, was basically a rock, so he remained unperturbed by the unsteady driving. All in all, it seemed like the need of road repair wouldn't affect them at all.

 

 

Except for Mark.

 

 

The first few pot holes were shallow, but when came the big one, The green-haired man jumped a little- in Mark's lap. He laughed awkwardly, feeling a little like a child being bounced on a knee. But then it happened again.  
And again.  
And again.

Perhaps his retribution could come in the form of hitting Mark'd thighs too hard, Jack thought. But a new plan presented itself after violent jostle.  
The pavement became bumpier, and Jack was nearly thrown out of Mark's lap. He tried to adjust himself, just when Barry put on the brakes for a second. The Irishman got thrown backwards with the momentum and accidentally pressed his back into Mark's chest, and-

 

 

Oh.

 

 

Mark was hard.

 

The flustered green-haired man had to gather himself for a while. He had to be sure it wasn't his phone or whatever... But after another jostle, with his rear lightly grinding on this "foreign object", he heard Mark suppress a grunt.

 

**Oh.**

 

Never one to refuse an opportunity when it presents itself, Jack caps his initial panic attack and settles on making calculated movements.  
He _cannot_ fuck this up. This could be his only chance to tease Mark the way he had been teasing him.

Experimentally, he tried swiveling his hips, rubbing his ass more roughly against his friend's groin. The body underneath him stiffened (in more ways than one). Mark reached his left hand, the one hidden from others' view, to Jack's thigh and gripped _hard_.   
"What do you think you're doing...?" Mark's usually confident voice came out desperate and frantic.

Jack looked forward and saw a hump. He grabbed the overhead handle and, when came it, he purposefully and exaggeratedly bounced up and down on Mark's lap.

 

A heavy grunt resounded from Mark, which he tried to mask by transitioning into a cough. Jack had to stifle laughter, which only caused him to titter, stimulating his friend's member all the more.

 

The hand on the Irish-born's thigh moved to his hip, and was trying with all its might to keep him steady. Jack was having none of that. Thrilled by some sort of exhibitionism, he only further discreetly rocked back and forth on the American's erection.

 

Matt lay soundless next to them, unknowing of all the sin unfolding next to him. Ryan, on the farther side was continuing a casual conversation with Danny. With Barry's attention on the road ahead, and some new hit single playing around them, no one payed mind to the lap dance Jacksepticeye was currently giving Markiplier.

Still, Mark tried to remain silent. Save for some grunts, he was relatively calm (as calm as you can be while you're being given a lap dance in presence of your friends), and Jack didn't appreciate that. Jack was going to make this douchebag suffer like he made him suffer earlier today.  
This was his opportunity to assert some dominance- Make Mark desire him. Make him beg for more.

 

And beg he did.  
After another jostle, the hand on his hip was balled up in his shirt, scrambling for purchase. It was apparent that the man underneath him was trying his best to ignore his friend's incessant motions, but to no avail. Jack could feel him twitch through their jeans.  
Jack was feeling it a little too, but was too busy having fun being nasty to become fully aroused by the nature of the situation.

"Jack, please..." He croaked out, leaning closer to his ear. His breath was hot against his friend's neck. Jack tried really hard not to shiver.

 

Not wanting to attract attention, Jack didn't pay him any mind and just continued to inconspicuously rub his ass onto Mark's front as casually as he could- like bros being pals.

The redhead must have been feeling insatiable, because instead of trying to play it cool, he started to thrust forward in small measures. Jack began to blush hard.  
There was a hardness that was forcefully rutting against his butt, and truth be told, it was kinda turning him on...

 

"...So how about you, Jack?"

"Hm?" He blinked. "Wh-Wot was that, Danny?"

"I was asking about your opinion. What do you think?"

"Um... I think that's great...?"

 

Danny turned towards him, brushing his bushy hair away. "I was talking about global warming."

The Irishman paled. More so because Ryan also started to pay him attention and Mark's ministrations hadn't ceased.  
"I wos- I wos joking. I think it's really important a-and... if every home segregated their trash, we could um, help it out. Wait. I mean, not help it out?" He stumbled.

Danny flashed a good-natured smile, bemused, and just nodded his head and paid no further mind. Ryan continued in their conversations, leaving Jack (and Mark) be.

 

Jack, relieved, noticed the pavement smoothing out. A quick glance at the phone mounted on the dashboard revealed that they were already nearing their destination. 

 

Of course he wants to make Mark pay... but if they arrive at the grumpspace and Mark is still sporting a wicked boner, they'll both be outed. A little foresight would have been appreciated before this stint.  
But Lord, Jack was definitively _not_ going to let Mark enjoy this. He scooted forward, removing himself from the prick he was teasing for the past minutes.

Out of sight, the Irishman carefully put his left hand, the one next to the car door, on Mark's fly, concealing it behind his back. The American obviously noticed this and Jack could hear his breath hitch.

 

He was about to touch Mark's dick.

 

This wasn't exactly a scenario he'd ever thought he'd have to participate in, especially 2 months ago. Yet with their destination nearing, Markiplier's erect penis directly underneath him, and pride on the line, Jack had no other choice.

After undoing his zipper, he cautiously dipped his hand underneath his friend's boxers. Despite his efforts to remain inconspicuous, the lime-haired man knows he must be looking like a Christmas ornament with his green bangs and red face.  
At least he's comforted knowing that Mark is having a far worse time than he is. He could feel his friend's ragged breath panting on his nape.

 

His fingers brushed against Mark's cock and Jack felt Mark lurch forward and bite the back of his shirt to keep him from making too much noise. At least the asshole was cooperating.  
Gingerly, he wrapped his thumb and index finger around its base. Feeling frisky, he gave an abrupt tug, which caused a jolt to go through the body underneath him. Mark let out a soft little whine that could make Jack's heart melt.

Taking a quick look at the window next to him, Jack wondered if all the pedestrians and city-goers they were driving by could have any idea about the chaos was going on. An excitement flooded his veins- this was his and Mark's dirty, intimate, little secret.

 

The Irishman pulled his fellow Youtuber's erection forward until he could pin it down underneath the waistband of Mark's boxers, effectively concealing it. It was a trick he learned in middle school when his privates were starting to have an agenda of their own.

 

Finally safe, the Irish-born extracted his hand from his crush's pants and noticed a light glimmer on it. It was pre-cum.

Shit.  
That was hot, Jack thought as he tried to swallow down his own feelings of arousal.

He wiped the wetness on the inside of his shirt right as he saw the grumpspace come into view alongside the other buildings that surrounded it.

Mark had let go of the back of Jack's shirt and was now nudging Matt awake, but not speaking. Jack just knew his voice was probably wrecked and pissy right now.

 

With the sun halfway gone from the horizon, and the sky a dusky gradient of pink to purple, the night had finally begun.


	28. A Tale Of Two Jacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack meets Jack. Mark gets mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to update twice today, but I got a hangover this morning, so I hope no one's too upset. Last chapter was a doozy anyways, haha.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank for all the comments again!! <3

As soon as they pulled up in the building, Mark had all but pushed Jack away from himself. He made a quick excuse of needing the bathroom before practically sprinting inside establishment. Jack had to remember he was supposed to feign ignorance because all he wanted to do was roll over the floor and laugh triumphantly,

 

Mark - 1  
Jack - 1

 

Jack helped the others bring the party goods upstairs with them, where all his friends were already starting to get tipsy.  
From downstairs, you could already hear the pulsing beat of a Ke$ha song. Walking upstairs only made the Irishman nervous.  
Was his hair okay? Was there something in his teeth? Was there anything that would lead anyone to discover he grinding in Mark just a few moments ago?

 

"Jack!"

He whipped around to see Suzy, drink in hand, with her arms open wide. The green-haired man leaned into her.

"Good to see you again! Still working those earrings, I see."

Jack reached up to touch the jewelry. "Oh. I forgot I was still wear in' them."

The woman lightly slapped his hand away from his ear, "Well don't get self-conscious! You look fantastic."

"I'll say." Another voice resounded behind the Irishman.  
Mr. Hands-On Hanson himself crept up behind Jack and rested his chin on top of his head affectionately. "Did you get _shorter_ , Jack?"

 

The Irishman swatted him away. "Ya bastard! Is that any way to treat a guest?" He laughed loudly.

His boisterous laughter caused a few people to turn to him. He saw the faces of his friends turn bright with recognition.  
Kevin all but ran into his arms. "Seaaaannn!"

Jack had to buckle his knees to support the Filipino's sudden weight.  
"Kevin!" He squealed, delighted but strained. "Here's all my gifts for all of you." He gestured to the items he was still clutching to his chest.

He was sure at least some of them are cracked now due to the bodyslam the baby grump just greeted him with.  
Kevin's beamed at him. He took the gifts from his hands and gave thanks before placing them elsewhere.

 

 

The gathering was lively and Jack couldn't feel happier. People were basically getting in line to catch his attention- and these were people that he looked up to for so long and fanboy'd over.  
Outside, he was trying to remain smooth, but inside he was running around in circles with flailing arms.

 

Mark eventually came out of the bathroom and caught Jack's eye. The two held their eye contact for a touch longer than they should before simultaneously looking away with red cheeks.  
This wasn't the time or the place to discuss what debauchery had just unfolded moments ago.

 

Gratefully, there was more than enough distraction to keep himself from starting a conversation he wasn't quite ready for. Jack got to meet Vernon, from Hot Pepper Gaming, and the eponymous other-Jack-from-Ireland, Jack Walsh.  
Walsh, as everyone called him in Jack's presence, was one of the intern-slash-directors for their beloved commercials. The other Irishman was a juxtaposition to the energetic McLoughlin due to timid nature and docility.

Additionally, he was a complete and utter darling. Maybe even more so than the sweet, cavity-giving Kevin or the Teddy Bear-ry.

 

Walsh introduced himself with a cute, shy smile and an offertory of some pristine Irish Whiskey in shaking, nervous hands.  
Sean knew they would get along just fine.

 

The two's banter sounded more like leprechaun jargon to anyone who overheard. McLoughlin's accent thickened, and Walsh's accent was stark as it is. Together, they made strange Irish sounds that confused the shit out of everyone around them.  
Not like they cared. They found it a little funny to be different together.

They spoke about their motherland, the weirdness of America, their experiences, their families... Walsh was a little piece of homeland in this foreign environment for Sean— one that he greatly appreciated amidst the shitstorm happening in his personal life.

 

"So, Jack..." Walsh was tapping on the side of his red cup. The pair of Irishmen sat in one of the couches to the wall, next to the food table.

"Yes, Jack?"

Walsh beamed. "Well Jack, there's this Irish pub that ah found nearby."

"An' wot 'bout this Irish pub ya found nearby, Jack?"

"Th'food an' drink remind me o' home, Jack. It's real grand."

"Ya pullin' my leg, Jack? A legitimate Irish establishment?" Sean was trying hard not to laugh. Their conversation was absolutely ridiculous.

"Would ah ever lie t'another laddie, Jack? Good food!" Walsh's reservations had already began to ebb away as a result of the alcohol he had drank. He scooted a little closer to his new friend.

Sean wrapped his arm around the director, "Well then we haf'ta go there, don't we?"

Walsh reached out and booped his nose, giggling drunkenly, "Ya didn't say 'Jack', Jack!"

The two couldn't hold in their laughter anymore. They looked like a couple of kindergarteners. It was maybe the first time Jack's felt relaxed for the longest time...

 

"Jack."

Both Irishmen looked up.

"I mean- ugh. I mean Sean." Mark rolled his eyes a little, standing awkwardly in front of the two, "There's this- uh, I have to show something to you real quick, okay?"

Walsh turned to face McLoughlin and put on a puppy dog face. The Youtuber only clasped their hands together and promised he'd return as soon as he could. They gave each other a formal salute before Sean let himself be dragged behind Mark, who had a vice grip on his forearm.

 

"Merk," Jack slurred, "Where're we...?"

The redhead pulled him away from the main room into one of the corridors. Four doors later, Mark stopped in front of what seemed like a coat closet. The once-inescapably loud music was softer now from their distance.  
Before Jack could react, Mark threw the door open and roughly pushed him inside.

 

The green-haired man pressed face-first into the bulk of coats and cardigans. Behind him, the door creaked half-closed. He turned to ask what the big problem was, up until he saw the look Mark had in his face.

Brown eyes narrowed and intense.  
Mouth in a straight line, teeth clenched.  
Hands balled up into fists next to him.  
His rigid stance alone, illuminated by the corridor light that bled through the ajar door, emitted warning signals.

 

Mark was mad.  
Jack was too tipsy to understand why.

 

But he did have to.  
The distance between them was closed, as Mark wrapped his arms around him and aggressively pressed his lips against Jack's.


	29. Fuck Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mark spend some time in the closet.

This one was unlike what they shared on he couch the other night.  
Whereas that kiss was controlled, very cautious and polite- this one was forceful and sporadic.

One second Mark's lips and sucking on Jack's lip, the next they're latched onto his neck, next they'll be pulling on the lobe of his ear.  
Jack, ever the tipsy partygoer, sobered up by sheer surprise. Because... what the fuck was Mark even doing?!

The man in question paused from his barrage of kisses. His head was rested in the juncture of Sean's neck and shoulder. He was just breathing now- heavily.  
It had stopped as randomly as it had started. It had only begun to dawn upon Jack what exactly had happened.

 

Jack, finally steadying himself from the whirlwind in his head, carefully placed his hands on his friend's back. He could feel his skin beginning to lightly itch where Mark was assaulting it last.  
If he didn't know any better, the green-haired man could easily believe that a drunken Mark had lost control and maybe felt a little jiggy in the downstairs region...

 

But everyone knows damn well Mark can't drink anymore. Whatever had just happened was upon his own volition- no alcohol to dampen any reasons or forego any inhibitions.  
How should he feel about this then? Weirded out? Scandalized? Irritated?  
...Aroused?  
This felt like the build-up to a sex scene in a party closet. Jack involuntarily gulped.

 

The heavy breathing of the body wrapped around him turned shallow and quick now. Intrigued, Sean looked down to see the top of his fiery crimson hair.

"M-Mark...?" He tried. He wanted an explanation to whatever had and will happen.

As if ignoring him, the red-headed man only further pressed himself against Jack, wrapping his muscular arms more tightly around a thinner frame.

 

Jack, to say the least, was a little baffled by the situation. Not moments ago it felt like Mark was about to do some R-rated nastiness, but now he was just... holding him...  
Too tightly, might he add. He felt crushed under his fellow Youtuber's grip.

Before any follow-up questions could be raised, or a plea to loosen up a little before he cracks a rib, Jack felt it.

 

 

Dampness.

On his shirt.

 

He pried his friend off of him. Blue met brown once more.  
In the dimming light, he could see tears twinkling in his eyes like stars.

Mark is crying.

All too quickly, he pressed his face back into Jack's chest, hiding his face from blue eyes. It made Jack's heart melt. He could only hug him back.

 

Mark's sniveling worsened until he was practically shaking in the Irishman's arms. It was, to say the least, not what anyone would expect. Right here right now, they weren't Markiplier and Jacksepticeye.  
Heck, they weren't even Mark Fischbach and Sean McLoughlin either.  
They were just two people who desperately clung onto each other. Who needed each other.

 

"J-Jack..."

He looked down. Mark was exchanged looks with red-rimmed eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..." He was chanting it now like a prayer, sincere and soft. Mark's voice was cracking with dreary hiccups. "I didn't- I'm so stupid. I'm so sorry."

"Wh-What for...?" Asked Jack, still confused and distressed. Jack extended his arm to wipe away a stray tear with his thumb. Mark was warm to the touch.

"I-I've been, shit." He tore away, furiously wiping away the wetness rolling down his face on his own, "I saw you and Jack- the other one, t-together and I felt... jealous?"

"Jealous?"

"Jealous. Because you- you were having so much fun with him! And! And you should've been spending time with me!" His voice raised, "And I've been a shitty friend becau-cause I wanted to rile you up a-and... I don't know!" The man threw his arms up.

 

Jack's back was still pressed up against the wall, their legs in awkward positions on account of the boxes laying at their feet. He was half sure he just crushed something. But what he was completely sure about was that he didn't like to see Mark cry.

"Ya... Ya didn't mean it, I know-"

"I did! I knew what I was doing! I was trying to- trying to feel good about myself! Celebrating by being a piece of shit to you..."  
His hands found their way to Jack's shoulders. "You don't know how long I've been second-guessing if you truly liked me or not, Sean. All the stress I got from trying to figure this out..." He gestured between the two of them, "And when I found out you liked me... I got carried away. I wanted to taunt you- I... Shit, this isn't an excuse."

 

So all this time, Mark's just been riding a high from being loved back. Sort of like how a highschool boy would taunt his crush when he hears from a friend of a friend that she likes him back. Jack pondered on this crazy fucked up world before opening his arms again, giving his friend permission to find comfort in him.

Mark graciously accepted, taking his rightful place in Jack's arms.

 

"Ya've been a dick."

"I know."

"Ye were playing with me."

"I know."

"Ye were acting like a child."

"I know and I'm so sorry. I want forgiveness."

 

The Irishman pulled on his red hair, causing him to move his face back. The two stared at each other for quite some time, just basking in each other's presence for the first time.  
Jack understands, in this moment in time, that he's enamored- just absolutely fucked up over Mark Fischbach. But he knew very well he didn't deserve to get just a slap on the wrist. He had a little more self-respect than that. Then again...

 

"We're even."

"What?"

"The... thing in th'car. That makes us even, right?"

"No it doesn't... Come on, let me make it up to you somehow." Mark's crying had ceased and his voice was steadier now.

"Hm..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Threw you for a loop, didn't I? ;)
> 
> Finally, some realistic relationships.


	30. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mark go home.

"Yeaaahh! Gag on it, Mark!! Choke on that shit! Oh yes, that's fuckin' sexy."

 

 

 

"I can't believe you made me do that."

"Ya said ya wanted t'make it up t'me, did ya not?"

"I didn't expect you to want... that..." Mark scowled at his friend while he waved goodbye to the retreating figure of Barry's car. "You have any idea how long that picture is gonna haunt me?"

"That's the plan, Markimoo." Jack grinned as he held up his phone, showing a picture of Markiplier with 4 jumbo hotdogs in his mouth.

The redhead despondently made his way to the front door. "My mom's probably gonna see that, you dick!" He groaned.

"I don't know, I think you look quite handsome with four sausages down yer throat." Jack tapped his join thoughtfully, trying to keep up with the Youtuber, "Maybe we could get some friends over, like Yami and-"

Mark glared over his shoulder, "You can't stop right there." He fished the house keys from his back pocket.

 

The green-haired man only grinned. The two had finally started talking like adults, so maybe Jack could finally got 20 minutes without embarrassing himself any further.  
Additionally, Ryan and Matt, drunken and tired, had opted to stay the night in the grumpspace instead.  
Well... opted is a strong word. The two were too unconscious and big to lug around, so the not-taller-than-5"7 pair decided to leave the two in the care of Arin and Suzy.

Jack would have wanted the same for himself, being a little drunken, but he didn't want Mark to go him alone.  
Which gave the pair plenty more time to set things straight. Or... not straight, I suppose.

 

A soft click meant that the house was open for the two. Mark looked as if he was about to enter but hesitated.

"Hey Jack?" He didn't turn to face him. All Sean could see was his broad back, bathed in a warm, orangey light from the outside lamp. He was wearing a thin gray hoodie that embraced his sculpted frame.

"Yeah?"

"We have the house to ourselves."

"Yeah."

 

If you blinked, you'd miss how Mark briefly glanced at Jack's body.  
"Your shirt is still wet." The American pointed out.

"No thanks t'ya." Jack laughed, pulling the hem of his moist shirt away from his skin, "It's fine. No one noticed. Not even Walsh."

"Um. About that..." Mark turned to lean against the doorframe, lightly scratching the chipping paint there with his index finger. "...S-So you're going to a pub with him tomorrow?"

 

Mark was stalling, this Jack knows even when intoxicated. But if tonight was any indication, it causes too much catastrophe to push things forward when they're not ready.  
"I will, perhaps." He smiled, "Did ya want t'come along?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to impose."

"Ya won't."

"I... There's something I want to do with you, Jack."

 

His heartbeat was running away. Was this possibly the silver lining he had hoped for in this hot mess of an evening? Jack briefly wondered if the condoms in his wallet hadn't expired yet.

 

"Wh-What's that?" Jack asked as coolly as he could- that being said, not coolly at all. He was fidgeting and stuttering, and probably teetering a little due to the unbalanced effects of alcohol.

The Korean-German looked up, eyes full of passion and sternness, "I want a rematch in Smash."

 

 

"This- This wasn't what I thought ya meant-t-t, ohh..."

The Irishman's toes curled at the sensation of a pair of lips suck on his collarbone. He scrambled to pull on red hair. Mark spasmed at the action.

"We might not have that much time for this... You going to the pub tomorrow and everything..." Mark's breath was hot against the sensitive pale skin above him. He licked a long stripe to his ear, causing the green-haired man to mewl.

His friend chuckled, "Quiet, you'll wake the dogs." Mark reached his hand around to stroke the small of his back.

 

Jack could only pant hard as his wet dreams came unfolded before him. Minutes ago, he had just sat down for what he thought was another video game, when the redhead pounced on him.  
Not that he was complaining.

 

Mark resumed peppering his Irish skin with kisses and kitten licks. The constant pleasure made Jack tremble. His arms were starting to give.  
"M-Mark..." He blushed at the sound of his own voice- wretched and debauched. Mark undoes him so easily. "Can I... I want to lie down."

 

The American gave pause before clumsily trying to roll himself on top of Jack. The couch was not nearly big enough for the two of them to lie comfortably, and the house was almost completely dark.  
Jack fumbled with Mark's clothes, grasping at the cloth to figure out the fastest way to get them off without tearing them. The American only chuckled at the apparent desperation.

"Someone's horny~" he sang in a falsetto, letting himself be undressed.

The Irish-born only grimaced, "Shut up, ye were rubbing yer dick on my arse earlier t'night."

"And that's MY fault?!" Mark huffed, crossing his over his chest, restricting Jack from pulling his hoodie up over his head.

"Don't be like this, babe." The smaller of the two pleaded, running his nimble fingers down Mark's back.

 

The Youtuber seemed the cave at the touch. He arched his back. "I'm not your babe." He said breathless.

"Honey. Darling. Sweet pea." Jack listed off as he tried to ease Mark's arms away from his chest. "Sexy. Kitten. Cumslut-"

"WOAH." The redhead pulled away, laughing despite himself. "Calm down there, buckaroo. You haven't even taken me out to dinner yet. I have a very strict two-date policy before I let people call me their cumslut."

The Irishman giggled drunkenly. He chased him forward, mouthing at the exposed areas of his chest. "Sorry, daddy."

 

The reaction was immediate. Mark tensed up even more and had to look away. Jack, even in the dark, knew he was blushing wildly. "Let's just get this over with."

"Wow, I'm glad ye're really excited." Jack teased sarcastically, nipping at the American's taunt flesh.

"Shut up!" The American snapped playfully. He pushed both of them backwards into the couch cushions.  
From his place, he oh so slowly trailed his hand down towards Jack's pants with a mischievous grin. This is it, Jack thought. Moment of truth. "Plus, I don't think I'm the only one who's exci-"

He paused. Jack panicked.  
"Wh-What's wrong?"  
Could it be that Mark had changed his mind? What if all of this was a ruse? Fuck. What if Mark was about to admit it was all A joke? A prank? Any moment now he was going to reveal some hidden camera and tell him he was pulling his leg the whole t-

 

"You're not hard."

 

Jack blinked. He reached down to find that, true enough, a bulge was absent from the front of jeans where he expected there to be one.  
All the drinking, all the partying, all the pictures of Mark deepthroating sausages resurfaced in Jack's hazy memory. His skin burned at the realization. Now?! Of all times?

"No..." He whispered. "No no no no no no-" The Irish-born couldn't help to thrash around like a petulant child. Suffice to say he was fuming.

He rolled over, effectively burying his face in the pillows. Why was the universe punishing him like this?

 

"Jack?! What's wrong?" Asked Mark worriedly, try to nudge him.

He responded, incoherently on account of the cushions muffling his already slurred accent.

 

"...What?"

 

The Irishman turned his head a little. "Whiskey dick!" He spat, like it was some poison on his tongue. "I'm here- going to have hot drunken sex with the man of m'dreams that I'm sorta in love with and I can't get it up because I have fucking whiskey dick! So there!"

His mouth immediately shut.

 

 

He had said too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such an asshole tbh.
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry I'm a little late. I've been unproductive in school and art recently. But I have a new dog so there's that. Been feeling a little down tbh. Good thing I have you guys to cheer me up
> 
>  
> 
> If you don't know what whiskey dick is, I sincerely doubt you're old enough to be reading this...  
> Check it up on UrbanDictionary.


	31. Bang Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tries to break Mark's foot.

"Jack, come out."

"No."

Mark knocked harder on the door. "Jack, this is my house, so I have the key. I can come in whether or not you want me to."

 

The response was softened by the wood that came between the two, "Watch me jump outta th'window then."

 

The American could only huff. Jack, upon realizing his over-sharing, ran away to the guest room. Mark was left very confused, flattered and still admittedly horny.

"Jaaaaaaack," Mark whined, giving another round of knocks. "Come out and talk to me."

 

When no reply came, he rolled his eyes endearingly, "I don't care if you have erectile dysfunction, Jack."

 

The sound of footfalls erupted from the room. The door swung open to reveal an infuriated Irishman. "I DON'T HAVE E.D.!" Jack yelled, humiliated, "It's just this ONE time! This one time that it mattered..."

The silence was pregnant. It was so dense, Jack swore it was starting to cloud around him. On second thought, it might just the alcohol making vision swim. He wobbled a little.

Mark grasped his arm, afraid he might topple over. "Are you still drunk?"

"Is my dick still soft?" Jack sneered rhetorically.

 

The American moved one of his hands to the hem of Jack's pants.

 

"What?! NO! I was kidding!" The Irish-born screeched, swatting the hand away from his nether regions. "Stay th'hell away from m'junk!"

Mark redid his falsetto singing voice, "That's not what you were saying a while ago~"

Mark had to kick his foot in between the door and the frame to prevent Jack from shutting it again.

 

"Come on, let's just talk it out." He sighed in his deep voice. "You didn't- you didn't _ruin_ anything, if that's what you're afraid of."

"You're just saying that."

"I'm not. I swear it on my beautiful biceps!"

 

Mark felt pressure on the sides of his foot as Jack tried to shut the door harder.

 

"Okay, okay...!" The American laughed, pushing the door back to alleviate the pain in his foot. "I'm actually happy you... apparently... like me a lot. I was never fond of the one night stand." He confessed.

Jack stopped trying to crush Mark's foot. Ever so slowly, he let the door be opened. The other side of the revealed Jack, looking exposed and naked, despite having all his clothes on.

"S-So..." The green-haired man bit his lower lip, "Does that mean ya..."

"Want to bang?" Mark supplied.

Jack glared at him briefly. Instead of trying to shut the door this time, he just continued to their eye contact.

 

Mark had turned in the corridor lights, meaning there was nothing the darkness could hide from the two. There was still a damp patch in Jack's now-wrinkled shirt. Mark was only wearing one shoe, from trying to undress on the couch. Jack's pale face was flushed with red. Mark's shirtlessness revealed healing scars on his abdomen. Both still had red marks where the other left them.

"Does this mean ya want'ta... pursue a relationship?"

 

Completely taken aback, the Korean-German opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. This was not what he thought the night would be leading up to.

He gave a quick once over- taking note of all the small things, like the lines around Jack's mouth, the uneven patch in his beard, stray eyebrow hairs, some graying strands in the brunette-part of his hair... He drunk that in.

 

Jack, for the life of him, couldn't do the same. His eyes were now downcast, denying himself the pleasure of looking to Mark's face for some cues on what he could be thinking.  
He was too afraid that looking at him once more made it too personal. Too much of a sore subject. One night of almost-sex didn't mean anything to most, and that most might include Mark.

What happens if they try? What happens if they don't? A million and one different possibilities presented themselves in the Irishman's paranoid mind. At least a fourth of those possibilities had the conclusion of getting laid tonight once he sobered up, he thought.

 

"You're still drunk."

"No I'm not." He half-lied.

"Let's talk in the morning when you're... you, and not some drunk version of yourself."

"Those are the same two people, Mark." Jack laughed to his own surprise.

The American just shook his head, but a charmed smile was on his lips. "You can talk about how much you're in love with me when you can completely understand what you're saying, okay?"

The Irish-born just grunted.

A blush appeared on Mark's skin, "And maybe... I can tell you how much I might like you back when you can remember it all. I don't want it to be for naught." He leaned forward to plant a kiss on Sean's cheek. This one was unlike the plentiful others they shared moments ago.

This one was full of promise. It tickled and burned at the same time. It was a bit like a gunshot- fast, unexpected, but it packed a punch.

 

 

Jack didn't even notice Mark leave to his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not feeling well, but I'll be okay. Your comments help me carry on!!
> 
> Also Nicki Minaj reference in the title because hot damn, I love my mama queen.


	32. Hotline Ping*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Jack meet up. Mark won't stop texting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little graphic warning.  
> I know some of you just praised the sky at this note.

_Ping!_

It was a message from Mark. Attacked to it was a picture.  
Jack gave brief pause to think about what it could be- it might be a shot of Chica doing something cute, or a funny meme he saw, or-

 

Oh.

 

It was a selfie of Mark. But that wasn't where Jack's eyes was trained upon. It was what Mark was holding: his dildo.

Yes, the same dildo that made him feel like he was ready for death 2 nights prior. That one, all pink and plastic and rigid in Mark's hand. The cheeky bastard held it close to his face, winking and making a duck face at the camera.

No text message came after. No explanation.

"Son of a bitch..."

 

"Wot was that?"

Jack perked up, he flushed harder than he just did at the sight of the stupid image. "Nothing." He waved off, sliding the phone back into his jeans.

Walsh merely raised his brows before returning his attention back to the mini-tv in the high corner of the bar. True to his word, the place was eerily familiar of their common homeland- from the drinks, to the interior, to the very presence of the people that were also there.

However, a traumatized Jack refused any alcohol and chose to drink virgin. It was, after all, only 11 AM. But Walsh, the true Irish-blood he was, was drinking whiskey again, albeit in small sips. Sean smiled fondly at this, trying to shake he thoughts of Mark from his head.

 

He awoke with a dull headache, a ghost of a hangover. When he came to, Mark had already apparently woken early to pick up the boys from the grumpspace like the responsible father he was to the pair. That being said, they hadn't necessarily had a moment to discuss the events of the night prior.

It was killing Jack inside.

He kept giving him looks. There are these little passing instances where Mark seems like he's trying to tell Jack something with his eyes. Whatever he's trying to communicate, he didn't understand quite yet.  
But promises are promises, and he has to spend some time with other people too, so he bade adieu and called Uber to the place Walsh had told him about the night before.

 

Now Mark was trying to be a brat and pick a fight. Jack rolled his eyes. The effort Mark must have gone through to look through the contents of his luggage to find that damn thing... He felt almost violated for the American to invade such a personal space.  
He was just trying to get a rise out of him, he tried to remind himself in between handfuls of bar peanuts. He was just trying to embarrass him.

 

_Ping!_

 

Jack considered ignoring it.

 

He opened it anyways.

 

This picture was similar to the first- silly, but endearing. Mark, with a stupid open-mouthed smile, was trying to balance the phallic object on his forehead. The caption below it read "I'm a unicorn!"  
Sean had to wonder how on earth was this the man he had fallen for.

A quick ellipsis animation meant that Mark was about to reply something more. It was probably another quirky, random jab.  
Jack lowered the brightness of his phone real quick in case anyone might see what was on his screen. He wasn't ready for that conversation.

 

 _Ping!_  
He wasn't ready for the picture either.

 

It was just barely grazing his lips...  
The rubbery tip was pressed just so on Mark's puckered lips. Brown eyes were cloudy with a hint of playfulness. Jack felt his throat go dry.

 

_Ping_

 

The Irishman had to restrain himself from getting an aneurysm.  
The Korean-German's eyebrows were knit in focus as he parted his lips and stuck the dildo in his mouth.

 

"Sean, somethin' wrong?"

Jack immediately shut his phone off and whipped his head to his worried friend, sitting beside him at the bar. He felt himself sweat. "Nothing."

"Ya keep saying that an' I don't think it's true." Walsh, ever the timid man, said softly and loosely. He resumed his watching of some obscure sport.

_Ping!_

 

"Jack, I..." He had to catch himself, "I'm going to th'restroom." The green-haired man didn't wait for a reply as he sprinted to the bathroom.

To his delight, it was those one-person water closets. It wasn't seedy or gross either. Except for that weird mood growing on their corner. He chose to ignore that.

 

Why the fuck is Mark sending him dirty pictures now of all times?  
Scratch that, he knows exactly why he's sending him dirty pictures now of all times.

From what unfolded the night before, Jack knew Walsh was a sore spot for the redhead. This tactic, unlike shoving the Youtuber into a closet, was more indirect. Jack could ignore it and let it pass. It didn't have to affect him.

 

But some things are easier said than done, Jack realizes as he swipes open his phone.

The toy was deeper in his mouth. Unlike the one before, he didn't look too troubled to have a fake cock in his mouth. His eyes were fluttering shut, a little cross-eyes with bliss. A quick check at his collar told Jack he was shirtless.

A message came up. "I had to finish off last night's business" it read.

 

Shit.

Mark was touching himself.

 

Jack would have too if this wasn't a public bathroom and he could get arrested.

_Ping!_

 

Good news: he was no longer sucking on the dildo.  
Bad news: this was much worse.

 

The tip of the toy was wet with spit, and a string of saliva even connected it to Mark's bottom lip. He presented his mouth to the camera, tongue out and a vulnerable expression on his face.  
"I wonder if we could get alone time later when I pick you up"

 

Jack didn't even have to check to know he was throbbing in his jeans. He pressed a hand down on the bulge to alleviate some pressure. A whine escaped from the back of his throat.  
No. This was wrong. Walsh was probably waiting for him to come back.

_Ping_

 

Jack felt his stomach drop. Hard.

It turned out his guesses were right.  
The picture was a little blurry, but it was pretty obvious that Mark had just climaxed. It was cropped in such a way that it only revealed his well-toned chest, the bedsheets underneath him, the dildo at his side, and ropes of cum that landed on his skin.

It took everything Jack had to not just come at the spot. Th picture in itself was so erotic and dirty that the Irish-born contemplated having his phone washed of sin via holy water.

 

_Ping!_

 

This one was just Mark, holding a peace sign and with his tongue out, trying to be cute.

Jack was going to murder him if he didn't bang him first.


	33. Blueberry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark gives Jack a gesture of goodwill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if ya'll've noticed yet, but I'm honestly just maki this story up as I go along. I don't have an endgame or a ""plan"".  
> In fact, I came up with this idea while in church.
> 
> How ironic.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways, the reason I said that was me expressing how grateful I am that ya'll are so positively responsive to my BS. Ya'll're the best!
> 
> Quick shoutout to Grayson2022 who gifted me my first fic!  
> If anyone else feels like giving me wonderful things I don't deserve, go ahead.

The rest of the little get-together went swimmingly. Or as swimmingly it could go trying to hold back the urge to masturbate to your friend's stupid messages.

Walsh hadn't noticed much, and if he did, he didn't comment on it. They continued whatever game they was they were watching and even cheered when a team won along with the rest of the bar patrons.  
Honestly, Jack had no idea what was going on. He was happy anyways.

 

Too soon- or not soon enough, they parted ways and, as they previously agreed upon, Jack waited for Mark to pick him up in front of a nearby park.

 

By he time he got there, he already spotted the familiar hybrid parked alongside the fence. How long has he been waiting for his friend to come along. A quick check at the time on his phone told him he was actually earlier than expected. Jack's stomach did somersaults.  
Was he still mad? Absolutely. Was he still horny? You bet. Was he also a little flattered? Well...

Of course, they were in front of a park and there were children there. Any thoughts of hanky-panky in the vehicle were not only undesirable, but also illegal.

 

He pushed these sinful thoughts as he lightly tapped the window on the passenger seat with his fingernail. A click meant that Mark had opened the lock, and the Irishman climbed in a little stiffly, still unsure about what he should do.

 

"Hey there, trooper."

Jack fastened his seatbelt before looking up to Mark's face. However good-natured it may seem, he identified the mischievous sparkle in his eye and decided he didn't approve of it one bit. He turned backwards to check if they were alone. Indeed, the back seats were empty of Ryan, Matt, or their dogs for that matter.

Alone time.

 

"Aren't you gonna greet me?" The redhead asked, driving out into the main road.

Jack tried to muster up the nastiest look he could conjure up. "Don't pretend like ye're all innocent."

Mark steered left. "I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was pitchier and it made Jack's blood boil.  
The redhead only giggled, "Okay, okay. I'm sorry about that. I really am." He assured.

"Right..." Jack was unbelieving. He leaned backwards and propped his feet up on the dashboard, trying to appear cool and in charge. Keyword is "trying".  
It wasn't exactly news to say that Mark was just so damn loving that he's probably 40% responsible for the ice caps in the Arctic melting. All attempts at resisting him is futile, this Jack knows. But damn him if he wasn't going to at least try.

 

"I even got you something."

At this, Jack resumed his attention to the other man. With one hand in the wheel, the driver reached backwards to the floor of the backseat. From there, he retrieved a cupcake protected by a plastic case.  
"For you." He crooned, placing the pastry in the Irishman's lap and giving an award-winning smile.

Jack tried not to faint.

"I know you might not be hungry, but think of it as a gesture of goodwill." He added, placing both his hands back on the wheel.

 

The green-haired man out his feet down to survey the sugary treat. It was a medium sized cupcake with white fondant and an intricate pattern was drizzled on it with blue syrup. There wasn't a doubt in Jack's mind that it was likely from some fancy, froufrou bakery that probably charges an extra $2 just for a pretty ribbon. 

It softened the internalized frustration he held inside, Jack had to admit. He gave off a breathy laugh. "Thanks. What is it? Blueberry?" He thumbed the bottom of the package.

 

"Yep! I wanted a viagra cupcake, but they didn't sell those. I felt the blueberry was the closest I could get in terms of color."

Scratch that. Jack was even more pissed now.

 

He attempted to shove the baked good into Mark's face, but the latter defended himself with an outstretched arm. "Driving!" He warned, trying to maintain focus on the car. But still, he was laughing. Jack wanted to throw him out of the car.

"Plus, I'm only thinking of what's best for you!" The redhead further included as Jack retreated back to his seat.

 

It took every fiber in Jack's being not to suffocate him as he drove to the highway.  
"What's best fer me?" He mocked.

"Yes! I care about the bodily functions of your reproductive organs." Mark wasn't even trying anymore. The grin he wore well was permanent on his face as he continued to torture Jack over the night before.

 

The Irishman huffed. He wasn't going to go down without a fight.  
"Do ya usually think of ol' Jackaboy's throbbing manhood?" He flirted.

"Euch." Mark pulled a face, "One, don't ever call it _that_."

It only spurred Jack on even more. "Oh? What about sperm shooter? Bacon torpedo? Oh! Oh! How's about beef bazooka?"

 

The American proactively ignored him, "Two, with our recent... developments... I have, in fact, allowed myself to entertain the thoughts."  
Mark's face, however stoic, was tinted with a light red around the neck that Jack would find absolutely endearing if he wasn't still a little miffed over the latter's message antics.

 

"Has Markimoo been fantasizing about my mighty lust limb~?"

The driver took his eyes off the road in order to shoot him a 'what the fuck' look. He turned back to the highway and scoffed, "Don't flatter yourself. Whatever you've got, I see better in the shower."

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "What's that supposed t'mean?" He challenged, placing a hand on his hip and bodily facing his friend.

The redhead let past a smirk. "Let's not kid ourselves, baby." He cooed, "I'm taller, therefore..."

"Therefore nothing!" Jack interjected, irritation pricking his skin. "That has nothing t'do with it."

"That's what somebody with an inferior penis would say."

 

The green-haired lad rolled his eyes at his friend's childish behavior. But he'd be damned if he didn't admit he at least found it a little charming.  
"Oh yeah?!" The Irishman provoked, feeling riled up, "Aren't Asians known for shorter DNA wands?"

"Woah! When did this become a race thing?!" Mark half-joked. He jabbed a finger in his general direction, "That's not true! And even if it was, my German-ness crosses that out."

 

"Half a German doesn't stack up to a full-blooded Irishman!" He said as he puffed out his chest and tried to flex his arms.

All too suddenly, Jack felt the car shift sideways. Mark was steering them to the side of the road. "Um, Mark?" He was afraid he may have crossed a line.

 

They were currently a few meters out of the highway. It was high noon but to everyone's thankfulness, it was cloudy and even a little uncharacteristically dim. There was nothing but wide open dessert around them and an infrequent car.

Mark kept the hybrid car on neutral and was quick to unfasten his seatbelt.

"What the fuck?" Jack said out-loud, a little afraid. He watched the redhead fumble with the belt before moving his hands in front of his jeans. He stopped and looked at Jack to his right.

 

"Pull yours out."

It took a few seconds for the meaning to dawn upon the Irish-blood. 

"Excuse me?"

Mark had the audacity to roll his eyes. "Pull yours out! Let's see who has the superior penis."

 

Surely, they must have crashed and Jack was hallucinating somewhere in a hospital bed. All he could do was blankly stare.

"Mark." He tried to recompose himself, "We are not having a dick-measuring competition at the side of the road." Jack spoke with firmness.

The driver only ignored him and pulled down his fly. He stuffed his hand in there, fishing out his flaccid cock. Jack felt his face burn up.

 

Every common sense the Irish-born had screamed at him to look away- to stop this. Mark was just being cheeky, he had to remind himself. But he was already too far gone once his crush had successfully unsheathed his sword, so to speak.

 

It wasn't erect, but it was still sizable. It was a tan color that matched the rest of his Asian complexion and a few thin veins ran along its side. It wasn't anything that he hadn't seen before, but Jack unwitting licked his lips nonetheless.

A familiar bubbling sensation rushed up in his gut. How often could one person be aroused in a span of hours? This couldn't be good for... his colon or whatever.

 

He hadn't even noticed himself staring as long as he did. But when he came to, he looked up to see the most punchable shit-eating grin gracing Mark's stupid perfect face.

"Well don't make this weird," He teased with his smooth baritone, "I don't want to be the only one in this car with his pants down."

 

Jack found his voice again, screeching, "Me?! Not making this weird?!" His voice cracked a little, "How are you so... so chill?! About all of this?"  
He was panting now with how much he was just gesticulating.

Mark, he could see, only shrugged. He poked he side of dick with his finger. "I don't know." He confessed.

The two just sat in silence as the car radio played another EDM song.

 

"I just..." The redhead paused, "Don't think about it. With all the time we have left, I don't believe we have any to waste with just sitting here waiting for the other to make a move."

Jack could feel fluttering in his chest.  
It was true, he had to remember. His remaining days were down to 3. It wasn't nearly enough time.  
When could they find more time to do this again? If there was ever the opportunity to?

 

Maybe there was just something in the air and this moment could only last for now. Tomorrow, his window might be closed and he'd never get to find the answers he was looking for.  
It made Jack want to cry. He wanted to stay.

 

"F-Fine..." Mark looked at him oddly. Jack reached over to unfasten his belt. "I'll show you what a real thrill drill looks like."


	34. Twisty Fresh*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark calls Jack "Babygirl".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me be the first to say that I had no preconceived notions that this fic would be so well responded as it has. I figured out that apparently(??) I think (???) this fic is the most commented, most kudos'd, and most viewed fic under the septiplier fandom and ooohhh mmyyy goooosshh
> 
> That's fucking insane in the membrane.
> 
> Especially considering that I've been always taking notes from other popular fics like Fasten Your Seatbelts, You Never Said, and We've Been Walking A Thin Line.
> 
> I don't want to get emotional. Especially because this is essentially porn. But I want to thank ya'll for how amazing you've been to me.

"How did we end up here?"

Mark looked up from placing wet kisses on the pale skin pinned underneath him. A light sheen of sweat made the redhead look ethereal even, with a warm glow radiating from his person. His crimson locks fell before his eyes, disheveled.

"Um," Mark stuttered, "We were checking penis sizes, but you were a little chub'd, and that wasn't fair. So I said we should just go full bonercity if we want conclusive data."

Jack stared for a bit before shaking his head with a smile. "I meant how did we end up HERE. Two strangers who became friends over-over a job playing video games. And now you're about t'suck my baby anaconda."

"Are you getting existential over touching dicks?" Mark laughed. He brought his lips down to nip at Jack's navel.

The Irishman almost hated how he was so pliant under the other's touch. He arched his back involuntarily and lightly hit his head on the car door. No matter how short the two were, they certainly didn't fit comfortably in the backseat of this car. At the side of the road, no less.

 

"Get on with it." He found himself whining. His fingers were tangled in red hair, giving sharp tugs.

"Ever heard of foreplay?" The American retorted. He raised up to sit on his knees. His brown eyes travelled up and down the expanse of the Irishman's exposed skin. His shirt was on the floor and his pants were pulled down just enough for his cock to spring forth.  
The green-haired man's body was lithe and svelte. It was a runner's build,Mark observed. It fight him nicely. Speed is key as they say.

But Mark wanted to take it slow. He drunk in details: little marks and freckles and hairs and spots...

 

"Hey."

The American locked eyes.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me... like that..." Jack's voice was wavering, no matter how firm he wanted it to sound. He crossed his arms up over his chest and raised his knees a little, essentially curling up. Mark was having none of that.

 

The Korean-German lunged forward and held Jack's wrists apart, exposing himself again. Despite fighting for a bit, Mark was perhaps twice as heavy, so the Irishman let himself be dominated- just this once.

Mark scanned him once more. He let go of one of the other's wrist in order to brush some stray green hairs away from Jack's face and tuck it gently behind his ear.  
"You're beautiful." He spoke, voice low and trembling in what could be awe. It made Jack want to set himself alight. He probably was on fire anyways, on account of how embarrassed he feels.

 

The moment stretched on for a long time. So long that Jack might have thought he was stuck in some weird Matrix glitch. Neither of them moved, or even seemed to blink. His breath was caught up in his throat.

Again, the redhead leaned forward to kiss at his collarbone. Jack sighed dreamily.

 

The trail of kisses went lower until he grazed his lips against the Irish-born's left nipple. Out of nowhere, Jack jerked up, even hitting Mark's side with his knee on upon his reaction.

Silence ensued once more as Mark tried to collect himself.

Then a grin graced his face.

 

Oh no.

 

"Jaaaack~" Mark sang, leaning back in again and resuming to hold the other's wrist down. "Are you ticklish here?'

The green-haired man furiously shook his head and tried to fight back harder this time. Yet, he was disarmed when a pair of lips latched themselves onto his nipple.

 

Similarly to the first, he jerked up. Only this time, it was paired with a guttural moan as he felt something wet swipe over the bud. His face was red, he was sure.  
His cock was throbbing as well, but that was no surprise to either. Mark could probably tell, considering both their dicks were practically out for all to see. Their crotches pressed against each other, it felt electric.

He thought his friend might be letting up when he felt the seal around his nipple relax, but he couldn't be more wrong.

 

Mark flattened his tongue on his skin and gave repetitive, quick-paced kitten licks. Jack felt like fainting for reals this time. He thrashed around and attempted to even kick the man off of him. Unfortunately, his muscles where's left impaired due to the tension they got whenever he felt pleasure.

And he was feeling a lot.

 

He felt like a dog in heat, almost. The Irishman could suppress panting heavily, tongue out, as he moaned and squealed and groaned and simpered. Try as he might, he could quite shake the feelings. Heck, he wasn't even aware how much of an erogenous zone his nipples were until this very moment. But we learn something new everyday.

 

"M-Mark...!" Jack let out a strangled cry. "S-Stop."

But the other had different plans. He puckered his lips and sucked in the bud, causing Jack to scream- loudly. He bucked up his hips, desperate for any friction whatsoever. His tears were even beginning to wet. Mark was obviously having the time of his life.

 

"Mark, no! No more!" Begged Jack, pliant and responsive. He bit his lip, but could keep the vocalizations at bay. He was basically squirming with how horny he was.

Again, the redhead ignored his pleads, and this time brought both his wrists above his head and pinned them down with one hand. The other hand, he brought it down to the other neglected nipple.

 

The Irishman felt like crying. Actually, he _was_ crying. As soon as his friend flicked the pink tip, it was game over. Jack was too desperate to fight back. His gut lurched with the unfiltered arousal that coursed through his veins like liquid fire.

 

Outside, the world was unaware and even uncaring of the sin happening inside the car. Jack would never admit it just continued to turn him on that they were doing this just at the side of the road where anyone could step out of their car and see how debauched he was.

 

All this time, the American had been releasing the most delicious little noises- sucking, licking, moaning. It was all so new and yet not unfamiliar- with faux-Mark and all.  
After a well-directed thrust, Jack felt his own member grind against Mark's, and he was sure he'd felt the ultimate bliss one could feel in their lifetime. It melted him almost, but he needed more.

 

Frantically, the Irish-born rutted up, not caring anymore about how pathetic he must look. He chased release as if it gave him salvation. Mark was a big help, he exchanged hands and gave some mouth service to the other nipple. Jack continued to feel hot tears of pleasure run down his cheeks.

 

"You like this, Jack?" Mark huffed, hot breath against the other's chest. "You like it when I touch you like this?" He emphasized his point by ever so slowly twisting Jack's left nipple.

Jack could only scream and convulse. "Yes!" He cried. "Yes yes yes yes, I love your touching, Mark. Don't stop."

"I don't know... you told me a while ago to stop....

 

The green-haired man glared with his tear-stained blue eyes. "Don't even!" He warned. "Don't you dare fucking stop." His accent thickened and cracked.

"Yeah?" The American challenged. He let go of the other's wrists to push Jack's waist down. Immediately, the Irishman wrapped his arms around Mark'd neck, using it as leverage to rut against his friend.

 

Their jeans were crumpled and wrinkled, they were sure. But neither cared. Mark finally took a few minutes off from being an asshole in favor of grinding back on Jack. Their rigidnesses rubbed against each other deliciously.

"Mark..."

"What- What is it?"

"Can you... I want..." He stumbled over words- his head was cloudy with arousal, "Call me Babygirl."

 

Mark stopped. He raised his head a little to see the sincerity in Jack's icy blues. The corners of his lips twitched into a small smile. "Yes, babygirl."

The Irishman keened. Not just because of his wet dream erotica coming to fruition, but also because he picked that exact time to give another sharp twist to his nip.

 

"Mark! Mark!" He scrambled, and probably caused a couple scratches down the other's back, "Talk to me! Talk dirty to me! Make me come."  
He had no possible ideas where on earth he was pulling this out, but all he knew is that he didn't care. All he wanted was sweet bliss- with Mark. Another cry rang out and his friend picked up the pace of his grinding.

 

The hand on his waist moved, this time grasp at both of themselves and align them just so. Jack was going to lose his voice in the morning if this was the way things were going.  
"Babygirl..." Mark purred, seductive, "Babygirl, are you going to come for me? are you- Are you enjoying this? Rubbing our cocks together like a pair of animals?" He leaned forward to flick a nipple with a pointed tongue.

Jack was practically sobbing now. He was shaking with some much stimulation. His green hair plastered to his forehead with how much he was sweating, even if the car's AC was still on. He mewled.

 

"Ooh, you like that? Huh? You like the feeling of rutting up against me- all eager and desperate like the desperate... desperate slut you are?"

"Maaark!" Jack screamed, increasing the pace of their friction, "More! More! Call me your slut!"

He would probably regret it all afterwards, but right now he just doesn't give a fuck. Any restrictions he had was just thrown out of the window and left to dry in the LA heat.

 

"Oh?" Chuckled the redhead, deep and low. "Go ahead and cum for me. I want you to release. I want you to paint yourself with your own cum... I wanna see you. Would you let me? I want to witness your beautiful body unravel before my eyes. I want to see you desperate as you beg for it, as you beg to let go." He gave another sharp twist to Jack's nipples. "Say my name, okay? Please, I want to hear you yell my name- just so you can remember who made you feel like this. Yes?"

 

"Yes!" Jack growled, he bucked his hips up, feeling the overstimulation bringing him over the edge. "Mark, I'm... I'm gonna come... Shit. It's coming. You're gonna make me come. I'm coming, I'm coming." He prattled on, incoherently.

 

Mark spared no second thought. He bowed his head to bite at Jack's nipples while pinching the other.

"MAAAAAAAARK!"


	35. Hallelujah*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark shows Jack he loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case no one caught on, chapter names with an asterisk (*) mean they're NSFW.
> 
> Part 2, because no one is satisfied yet.
> 
> Chapter title taken from P!ATD

"Jack, help me come."

 

"You can do it. I believe in you." Jack encouraged, like a father giving his son spiritual advice. He couldn't keep some chuckles from coming out over the ridiculousness of their situation.

Mark glared hard.  
He ignored Jack's attempt at being funny in favor of jacking himself to completion.

 

A low grown came out of the redhead and Jack felt his softening cock twitch back to hardness at the very sound. This was just so unbelievably surreal.  
His own cum was currently drying on his stomach as per his own 5 seconds of ecstasy. Mark was looked as if he was just a few moments away from having his.

 

Jack too the few moments to unabashedly leer at his friend, currently on his knees on top of him in the backseat of the car. Sweat was trickling down from his forehead and you could see the tenseness in muscles.  
He was an Adonis to say the least. If he wasn't doing YouTube, the Irishman would be that he'd be offered millions to star in adult movies. That jawline alone was carved by the gods.

 

Every grunt and deep moan was amplified in the confined space, and it was honestly illegal how amazing he sounded. Forget softcore porn, Markiplier's voice was fit for the nastiest, filthiest, sin.  
Which would explain BourbonNeat...

 

"O-Open your mouth...!" Mark cried in between gasps of air.  
Jack was confused. His eyebrows shot up and he suddenly felt overexposed again.

 

"P-P-Please, just get me there!" Mark begged, desperation radiating off of him. It was fucking hot. "Just let me see you like that again."

Obediently, the Irishman opened his tongue and let his tongue loll out. He looked up at his friend from behind his lashes, trying to look as seductive as he could.  
It must have been doing something for the redhead, since, when he cracked open an eye, he immediately moaned hotly.

His back arched, hand flying on his dick. "Oh shiiitt-" Mark cried, thrust into his fist.

"Come fer me, Mark. Come on me." The Irishman urged, feeling absolutely filthy hearing words of encouragement escape his mouth. "Say my name."

 

"J-J-Jack...!" The American spasmed, he looked as if he was vibrating, "I'm gonna- I'm gonna- HOLY FUCKING SHIT."

 

It was somehow the most beautiful and most vile thing he'd seen in his life.  
To watch his dearest friend just let go in front of him was nothing he thought he wanted to see, but now he just couldn't ever let himself forget it.  
Ropes of white released themselves, with Mark's gorgeous face looking blinded out as all hell. Mouth in a gentle 'o', eyebrows knit tightly, and eyes fluttering shut.

He wished he could just take a picture.

Not for any nefarious schemes or perverted obsessions... But just because at this moment, this was his doing, and nothing could take that away from them both.

 

 

They just lay there, spent. Together, they basked in the afterglow of post-orgasmic shivers.

"Now I'm all covered in your man spunk..." Jack complained, wiping a dollop off of his chest and watching it drip back down from his fingertips.

 

Mark traced the outline of the Irishman's navel with a pointed finger. It was covered in red, angry marks. "I don't know. I think you look hot. Covered in my cum."

The Irishman flushed. Mark had said it with such nonchalant carelessness. He felt like covering himself again. He was overexposed.

 

"Plus," the American added with a suggestive wink, "Now I know you're all mine."

"All yours?" Parroted the Irishman, "What am I? Some sort of property?" Although it wasn't all serious, Jack didn't like the inkling of possessiveness that Mark had implied. He prefers to be his own person, if that was too much to ask.

 

The Korean-German took note of the the sour expression on his friend's face and looked taken aback. He reached forward, running his hand down Jack's cum-covered chest. The motion made the boy shiver.

Jack then watched as he brought back the same hand and messily wiped their combined jizz on his person- running it up and down his tanned, sculpted chest. The Irish-born gawked. Partly-confused, but also a little turned on by the sight.

 

"There." The redhead said with some finality, wiping off the last bits of the collected wetness on his skin.  
"Now I'm just as much as yours as you are mine." He said with a childish, toothy grin that honestly looked too innocent for the situation they were in.

"Ew, you're so gross." Despite himself, Jack laughed. He felt bubbly, and warm, and most of all loved. The cum on Mark glistened a little in the LA light.

 

Mark stuck his tongue out before leaning back down to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

 

Jack's chest felt deflated.  
"Is this yer disgusting way of saying ya love me back?" His voice was tinged with vulnerability. He had to hold out hope somehow.

 

The redhead only smiled against his lips. He then got up and tried to tuck away his own cock. "I'm going to get driving." He bade, "who knows who might pull up and find us like this."

Jack feebly reached out and clawed at the back of Mark's pants, trying to get him to stay and keep this moment from fleeting. His friend caressed his hands, but ultimately set them back down next to the Irishman. "Just sit tight."

 

He jumped back to the driver's seat and reached over to the glove compartment on the passenger's side. Jack was too tired and a little hurting to move, but he could see Mark rummage through the contents to pull out some paper towels.

"Why do ya have that there?"

"Y'know, for spills... or when my friend and I masturbate each other."

Jack gasped, "Ya planned this!"

Mark only smiled, tossing the roll of towels backwards and pulled his shirt back on, which lay at his feet in a heap. "Sleep if you're tired. I'll wake you up when we're near."

 

It was the only confirmation he needed. Jack shut his eyes, ready for slumber. "Hallelujah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone decides to express love to their significant other in this way, please tell me about it in details, because that is hilarious!
> 
>  
> 
> Happy Easter, sinners.


	36. Playing It Cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt won't leave the otaku store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for all those who got worried for me because I've been AWOL. I got repetitively ill. I'm a weak child, forgive me.

"You like you just had sex."

Jack stiffened. He turned to face Matt with the most try-hard innocent expression he could have.  
He and Mark had just returned home from their extended trip. They made sure to be surreptitious about their arrival, removing their shoes and tiptoeing to their respective rooms after sharing a quick peck on the lips and nothing more.

With sweat-slicked hair, rumpled clothes, fucking cum stains on them and all, it was pretty obvious what hijinks they committed. But Jack wasn't going to let Matt know that.

"Wot makes you say that?" he said as he discarded his shirt, and tossing it to his bed, effectively hiding the suspicious stains on it.

 

The blonde just shrugged, sizing the Irishman up and down with leering eyes. "Uh-huh."

 

The green-haired main broke out into a cold sweat. Maybe removing his shirt wasn't the best of ideas, considering he might just have ghosts of love bites littered on his skin. He was quick to rummage through his clothes to find a shirt to hide them.

 

But it was too late. Matt saw. There was this quirky smile playing on his lips, before he walked away with a wave of the hand.

 

After he had left, Jack, dressed now, all but collapsed into his guest bed. Not the best of ideas, to be fair, the mattress was a little lumpy. Nonetheless, the Irishman praised some peace and quiet on his own. There was a lot to talk himself through. The hot topic being that and Mark had just touched dicks.

The Irishman turned over, letting his back bask in the warmer LA atmosphere.

2 days.  
2 days before he had to return to nippy weather of his homeland.

 

It was breaking his heart.

 

"Jaaaack?" He heard through the walls.

"Ryaaaan." He called back.

"Mark told me to tell you that we're leaving in a few."

 

Right. Jack was the one who asked if they could go clothes shopping when he got here. He wasn't about to back out just because he's sort of going through an emotional breakdown.  
"Yeaaahhh. Be ready then." Jack called back, turning over the sheets, effectively messing up his bed.

 

 

American malls are so weird.  
Jack knows there must be bigger malls elsewhere, but hot damn, this place had everything- it was giving him vertigo.

So far, he's bought 2 pairs of shoes- running ones, and some cool sneakers. He's also bought this deadpool figurine from an otaku shop in one of the shady corners of the place. The shop of which, Matt was adamant in staying in, clutching to the walls when Jack tried to tell him it was time to go. Defeated, the Irishman left him there.

 

Pleased, and admittedly tired, he trudged on to the food court to meet up with Mark and Ryan as they've previously decided upon.

When he got there, however, he only saw Ryan with a baseball cap eating ice cream alone. No Mark in sight.

 

The American looked up from his frosty treat when he saw the flash of green hair approach him. Smiling, he kicked the chair in front of him forward with his foot to let Jack sit. The Irishman gratefully sat his ass down, placing his purchases in front of him on the table.

 

"Hey, where's Mark?" Jack wanted to hit himself. Way to play it cool.

Ryan didn't seem fazed, "He went to look for some pants there." He pointed to a shop to their far left. "Where's Matt?"

The Irishman snickered over how much they were both so worried over the respective other. Internally, of course. Ryan and Matt, he knew, would come around in their own time. "Otaku shop."

 

At his response, the American slid down his hair and groaned long and loud, with his eyes rolling back. "No! He's gonna take FOREVER there!" He whined, taking off his cap and ruffling his brunette hair in frustration.

Jack smiled sheepishly. He knew he should have tried harder to get the blonde to let the Miku plushie go.

 

After calming down, Ryan grimaced. "Welp, I guess we have another half hour to kill." He grumbled, tentatively licking at his mint chocolate treat. "Might as well tell Mark, he might be rushing for nothing. He's probably in the dressing room."

"Oh." Jack blinked once or twice. "O-Okay."  
The prospect of getting alone time with Mark so so right after their tryst made Jack nervous, to say the least. In his head, all his neurons were practically on fire over how much they're overworking. He gulped.

What could he say? It was far too soon. Was there anything to say at all even? He shifted uncomfortably before nodding and taking cautious steps towards the shop Mark was in.

 

Ryan eyed Jack's retreating figure suspiciously, and if he noticed something amiss, he didn't comment on it. He went back to tongue-fucking his ice cream cone.


	37. Red Lace part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark gets stuck and Jack helps.

"Mark?"

"Jack?" A distinct voice echoed from behind a dressing room door- the one in the left corner.

Irishman took apprehensive steps towards the cubicle with a "4" painted over it. He knocked once. "Matt, uh, we were in the Japanese store, an'-"

Mark groaned from behind the door. It seems he already knew where this conversation was heading to. "Good. I'll take my time with this then. Most of my jeans got fucking wrecked by Chica!"

 

Jack obviously couldn't see him on account of not having x-ray vision, but he just knew that Mark was gesticulating, a sour expression on his face hiding a small smile of fondness over remembering his beloved pooch's misadventures.

 

It was strange, really. After one messy handjob, Jack had never felt more in-tune with another person.

 

On the way here, he'd been able to pick up all these little motions and expressions redhead's face-  
The way his lips twitch just so to show irritation when the car in front of him neglects to use the turn signal, the way his nostrils flare when he's suppressing a laugh, the very minute crinkles around his temples when he smiles from the eyes...

 

It'll break his heart when he'll only be able to see these things through a screen instead of in person. Jack feels his eyes involuntarily wet.

 

"Jack?"

"What?

"I said, is it okay?"

"Is wot okay?" Jack said dumbly.

 

The door in front of him pushed ajar, revealing Mark's exasperated face. "I asked you if you can come in here and help me remove these jeans."

The Irishman is probably red, he knew. He threw panicked glances around him, "Are you crazy?!" He blurted out under his breath. "People could-"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, ya perv!" The American hissed, albeit teasingly, "it's just that- Erm. These pants are uh... stuck."

 

Jack blinked. "Stuck."

"Stuck."

"Stuck?"

"Yes, stuck! Want me to spell it out for ya, fucktart?"

 

The Irish-born was practically in awe. "Is your ass just too fat, or...?"

Mark narrowed his eyes menacingly- or at least tried to, because it was painfully blatant that he was embarrassed over the whole ordeal. He fidgeted. "Would you just get in here already?!"

 

Jack, revitalized with smugness, wordlessly strode into the small room with a grin. It took one look for his composure to falter and for him to burst out laughing. The jeans held Mark's legs in a vice grip- he could see every curve and dip in the man's limbs.

 

Then again, he could literally see every curve and dip.

 

"Turn around."

Mark cocked an eyebrow. From the small space in the cubicle, the Irishman could already feel confusion emanate from his friend. Thankfully, the American didn't question him and turned on the spot.

Was it pervy to blatantly check out your friend's ass in too-tight jeans while you're all alone in a dressing room? If it was, then Jack is guilty.  
Mark had no prior warning before he felt a sharp pain in his butt.

 

Jack had taken the liberty to _smack that ass._

 

"Jack, what the hell?!" Mark seethed, red in the face, but still facing away from the Irishman.

The green-haired man paid him no mind and instead reached forward and rubbed at his friend's rear, feeling up the fullness and curvature of it.  
He had no idea what had gotten into him at that moment, but then again, he didn't care. If Mark wanted out of those jeans, then he would kindly oblige.

 

True to his friend's words, the pants were incredibly tight. It was difficult, but not impossible, for Jack to wedge his hand inside. Mark gasped, albeit softly, at the feel of cold fingers on his skin.

The Irishman eased the denim down the American's waist, slowly but with due eagerness, as if he was unraveling a present.

 

 _Mark IS a gift to me_ , Jack thought before adding, _Wow, that was gay._

 

The redhead, on the other hand, despite his prior hesitations, willingly popped that booty. It was to help Jack get the jeans off of him, he would argue.

Not because of any other reasons. This was totally platonic. Such a casual bro thing to do.

 

It was hard to stand, considering not only that Mark's legs were being cut off of circulation, but also because Jack's nimble fingers were doing things to him.

Sexual things.

It's literally been like 3 hours since their first tryst. Mark doubts he would be properly riled up for round 2 so soon.

The idea of a round 2 hadn't even graced the American's mind up until this point.

 

But it had definitely been in Jack's mind for the past few moments. More so when he was finally able to get the jeans down Mark's ass. Mark thought he heard a loud thumping, but dismissed it.

 

"Red lace."

 

Mark turned stiff. (His body, not the other thing)

 

"You're wearing red lace."

 

Jack's hands were off of his body and the American was afraid this was a little too weird and they'd crossed a line. When they had gotten home, he couldn't bare to still wear the same clothes. What those clothes beheld was just too intimate to simply wear casually.

 

"I..." Now was not a great time for Mark's brain to shut down. "I was, I mean, I needed to change, but... I hadn't finished laundry because of you- well, don't blame yourself! I just devoted a lot of time, and... It's not your fault, I'm not blaming you... These were the only thing I had left..."

 

The excuse sounded pathetic even to his own ears. They had been a prank gift from an ex-girlfriend that he didn't throw away because "free stuff is free stuff", even after their breakup.

But how to convey that to Jack...?

 

The redhead's face matched his dye over how embarrassed he was. He was afraid to even turn around, and instead faced the door- booty still popped, because his joints froze up in his mortification.

"Ex gave it to me and I... I thought it was funny, and it feels nice so I kept it..."

 

"I see." Jack's accent came out scratchy and raw, as if his throat had been absolved of moisture. "They look nice on ya."

Mark laughed quietly. "Th-Thanks." He paused, "If this is too weird, then you can leave, I don't want things to be awkward between-"

 

A warm body pressed itself against Mark's back, pushing his face against the door and moving his glasses askew on his face. A rigid hardness rubbed against his rear. The American's heart ran away at the particular sensation.

Mark's blood ran cold, feeling scratchy stubble on his shoulder and hot breath near his ear.

"Ya talk too much."


	38. Red Lace Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark is in control no matter what, and Jack feels safe yet pissed about that.

"I'm not so Twinky McGee anymore, huh?" Jack grazed his teeth on the outer shell of Mark's ear. He felt him shiver.

 

The Irishman was well aware that Mark was at least twice his size and could easily overpower him.  
Yet, the American was putty under his touch. His chiseled jaw was pressed against the back of the dressing room door with one of his wrists pinned behind him while the other hand scrambled for purchase.

Mark was letting him do this, and it was hot as fuck.

 

Jack lifted his knee higher and continued to languidly rock it back and forth between the redhead's open legs. He could feel his friend's hardness rut against his pant leg, both desirable and desiring.

"So ya said ya like me covered in yer cum?" The green-haired man droned, "Is that right? You're so desperate."

"I am, I am..." Mark mumbled softly, quickening the pace of his rutting.

Jack was absolutely enthralled. "And you thought I was the slut between the two of us..." He said incredulously.

 

Jack released his hold on his wrists and instead placed his hands on Mark's hips to play with the hem of the red lace underwear he wore.  
The too-tight jeans were eventually removed, and were now pooled around his shaking knees.

 

Mark found a wayward hand climbing up the side of his leg up to his bum, before stopping there and pinching it. The Korean-German seethed in the sharp pain. Another pinch followed before he felt Jack's fingers slide between the soft fabric of his underwear.

"Jack," He found his own deep voice to be whiny, "Right here?"

"Right here." The Irishman confirmed before rubbing the skin he pinched. "Right here where you're forced t'keep yer pretty little mouth shut."

 

Mark resisted he urge to chortle, "Dominant, much?"

His friend bit his shoulder as a response.

 

So maybe Mark was already a little aware that he had a little bit of a pain kink. But in public? He didn't expect the moan that erupted to be so heated. He quickly covered his own mouth, hearing Jack hold in laughter from his outburst.

 

Those wandering hands found their way around his torso, holding him like a normal hug, save for the fact Mark could feel an Irish boner poking him from behind.

 

Suddenly Jack side-stepped. He turned them both around so that the green-haired man's back was against the door. Mark's feet fumbled awkwardly considering the jeans were still around his ankles. He cursed as he almost fell over.

"Jack, what are you--?"

"Look."

 

Mark paused. He looked up and immediately regretted it.

 

Jack had positioned them just so that Mark could bare witness to his own debauched form in the mirror; red hair mussed, lips wet, skin flushed, shirt raised, arms around his chest, and his red lace underwear visible for all the world to see- tent with it and all.

 

He let out a whine at the sight and looked away. He was so fucking embarrassed. Yet Jack was having none of that.

"Look at yerself." It was less of a request and more of a command. Jack himself was taken aback by the vicious bite in his words. But suffice to say it made him feel powerful.  
Finally, some divine retribution from all the hanky-panky bullshit that Mark had been smothering him with. With a jubilant smile, the Irishman once more reached below the garter to grasp at his friend's cock.

 

The response was violent. Jack was pushed back into the door as Mark arched back.

 

"S-Sorry...!" Mark struggled to breathe.

 

The Irishman paused. The Irishman hit Mark at the back of his legs with his knee, causing the American to fall forward with a repressed squeak on his.

"Little bitch..." He sneered, rubbing the sore spot at the back of his head from the impact.

"I said I was sorry." Mark quietly murmured, still feeling hot and bothered from seeing all this sin unfold in the mirror opposite of them in the cramped space of the dressing room. Yet he couldn't look away.

 

Jack clucked his tongue. It was time for some payback. If Matt was really going to take as much time as they were inferring him to, then he should take the opportunity by the tits and balls. He grinned.

"Make it up t'me." 

Mark turned from the sight before him, and took a peek over his shoulder with a questioning, yet scared glance.

 

The moment's reality crashed down the 26-year-old in a tsunami. He fumbled. They _were_ in public. Was it too soon?  
They'd literally just been touching dicks. Was that too much for one day? This was probably the 12th time these thoughts have crossed the Irish-born's mind. He suddenly felt all his confidence drain from him.

He evidently wasn't Mark- so forlorn and spontaneous. He felt his gut lurch.

 

At the extended silence, Mark shook away his previous scared look for a now worried one. It was genuinely concerned that Jack, for a few seconds, knew what it must be like to be Chica in her master's eyes.

"Jack," he begun, voice now modulated, "I want to make it up to you. Let me."

 

There was a lilt in his voice that was undeniably teasing, yet coy.  
It made Jack feel secure yet royally pissed off at the same time that Mark was still somehow still in control of the situation.

 

He took one last look at the voluptuous amount of ass in front of him, still decorated under pretty red lace- and smiled.

 

With, admittedly shaking, fingers, Jack reached down to his pants' zipper.


	39. #succ*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Jack make plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #brojob

The moment Mark's lips wrapped around his dick, Jack was 200% certain he had done this before.

 

It was too skilled, too earnest and purposeful to be the awkward and addled motions of a reformed straight man.

A hand wrapped itself around the base of his shaft and gave alternative pumps to the rhythm of Mark sucking cock. Jack keened.

 

Although he had been on the receiving end of a blowjob before, this one was different. Different being that it was man on his knees in front of the Irishman, and not a dame.

The mind-blowing factor came not from "omgzzz guys r b3tter", but more so along the lines of "wow this isn't any different".  
He would've at least expect some sort of gay panic to follow, akin to the episode Jack had earlier that day, and yet... He was too busy melting into the pleasure to worry about those kinds of things.

Maybe he was starting to change for the better.

 

A particularly forceful tug made Jack jolt back into reality. Right. Someone had his dick in their mouth.

Looking forward, blue eyes could see the back of a mop of red hair bobbing back and forth.  
He himself looked like he had just run a marathon. He was never one to remain quiet during some nighttime actions, and the study in self-control that was going on right now was some otherworldly form of strength training.

 

Mark's tongue began to wedge itself into Jack's slit.

 

He tried so very hard to keep his hips still. Yet, the warmth and wetness of Mark's mouth was so inviting. His Irish dick just slipped inside so effortlessly with each passing thrust. It was taking his breath away.

 

Some difference surfaced in Jack's recognition. The fact that Mark had some stubble provided with a strange yet not necessarily bad sensation of scratching around his thighs. The hand around his length was rougher, more calloused, and this caused more friction. A little too much friction, in the Irishman's opinion.

But who was he to complain? Markiplier was giving him head.  
He would be live-tweeting this if he could.

 

#succ  
#brojob

 

With a soft pop, his friend had relinquished the vacuum that was keeping Jack's toes curled. He whined quietly at he loss. Mark stared.

"What?" Jack found himself unable to say much more.

The redhead blinked once, and then twice, before a face-splitting grin broke out. "You're really good at keeping quiet. I'm surprised.

Jack scoffed. "It's not like yer blowjob is particularly special."

 

QuIrking an eyebrow The Korean-German merely rolled his shoulders back, releasing the tension there and ignoring the sass in Jack's tone.  
"Oh yeah?" He challenged.

The redhead cleared his throat before getting right back in there and sucking with all his might.

 

Pray to God that there wasn't anyone in the nearby dressing rooms, because Jack couldn't stop the squeal from escaping him.  
With any luck, a passerby would just think they'd slipped or hit something.

The TMZ headline flashed before his eyes: Youtubers JackSepticEye fined for indecent exposure in an American mall"

 

His dick twitched after a particularly rough suck. Christ, he wasn't even moving yet.

The same rough hand that had been on his dick made its way to palm at the Irishman's balls. He reached between his legs to stop that madness.  
Certainly, he couldn't control his soft whimpering and moans if his jewels were to be touched like that.

Mark paused, looking up at blue eyes through the frames of his classes.

"S-Stay away from my meaty clackers."

The man on his knees released his mouth's vice grip on Jack's shaft.  
"Please never refer to your balls as that again."

 

There was a fierily intense silence where the two just locked eyes. Brown bore into green- like the steady, sullen earth clashing with a raucous tidal wave. They stared hard into each other, all until Mark cracked first and began to giggle.

 

Jack immediately followed, the two's snickering snowballed into uncontrollable laughter. The Irishman fell to his knees, being to weak to stand upright. He rested his head on Mark's shaking shoulder.

 

The American's chuckles and snorts were endearing- deep and full of love. Jack raised his head to survey him:  
The red lace underwear he sported no longer looked so exotic on his form. It looked so natural on a happy Mark.

Jack smiled to himself, feeling his dick soften and being completely okay with that.

 

"There ya go again," he interjected between bouts of snickering, "ruinin' the moment. Cumslut."

"Hey!" Mark threw a weak punch to Jack's solar plexus- making him gag. "What did I say about calling me that? Only after the-"

"Second date. I remember."

"Giving incomplete- yet hot- blowies in a dressing room isn't a date, Jack." The redhead scrubbed his face tiredly' but his smile couldn't be hid, "Neither was rutting in the backseat of my car, or in the backseat of Barry's car."

 

Jack tucked his flaccid penis back into his pants. "Yeah? What about that loving moment we shared playin' Smash and eating all o' Ryan's snacks?"

The American pouted dramatically, "Th-That's one." he mumbled. "But all of _this_ kind of deserves better." He gestured to himself.

 

Jack's laughter died down just a tad, in favor of rolling his eyes.  
"Alright then. Let's go on a second date. I'll treat you right this time around."

Mark's eyebrows came close to his hairline, "What? Like right now?!"

"No, ya doof." He leaned forward to press his lips on Mark's nose. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow we go to the water park."

"Then we'll have a water park date."

"What about-"

"I'll take care o' Matt and Ryan. They won't haf'ta know."

 

Mark seemed to take the time to mull over his thoughts- pursed lips and his eyes looking at he space behind Jack's head in deep meditation. "Okay." He said finally.

 

Jack released the breath he didn't know was holding. A certain weight just rolled off his shoulders. "Just ye wait." He clambered to stand before outstretching his hands for Mark to take.

"I'll get t'call ya my cumslut soon enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being patient with me. Comment your kinks and requests so that I may either add it here or make a new fanfic altogether.  
> Much love!


	40. Deep Breaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes deep breaths.

Ryan was practically doing cartwheels when they arrived at the waterpark. He ran off, holding Matt's hand, while Mark yelled at him to put some sunscreen on.

 

Jack smiled.  
Then stopped smiling when he remembered how uncomfortable he was.

His Irish skin practically shined in the LA sun. All pale and white, with minimal clothing, he felt like the flimsiest slice of white bread in the immediate area.

 

Don't get him wrong! Waterparks are fun. Waterparks are super.  
It's just that they it wasn't on his agenda.

 

Matt was the nearest to his body type, and unfortunately for him, Matt had the shittiest taste in swimwear.  
Peach trunks with zigzag patterns, which looked as if they were taken from the kid's section of a summer sale back in 2005, clung to his ass awkwardly.

 

It was either this or blue speedos. Mark wriggled his eyebrows suggestively when Matt showed him his two options. He chose the latter, shooting dirty looks at the redhead.

 

Speaking of Mark, he sat idly by, eyeing up Jack. The Irishman realized he was literally just standing there, staring at nothing- hands at his sides and feet shifting awkwardly.

"W-Wot?" His voice came out in a choke, self-consciousness overwhelming him.

Mark, the bastard, grinned and said nothing.  
He locked up the car and just left the Irishman there, dumbfounded and a little miffed.

 

 _Deep Breaths, Jackaboy._ he told himself.

 

"Two ice pops, please." Jack rummaged around in his slingbag to find some spare change.  
The vendor, sweet kindly man, pulled out a pair of icy treats from the cooler next to him- a blessing from the heavens in the hot and dry atmosphere around the youtubers.

"Dibs on the orange!" Mark called, from behind his shoulder, snatching the popsicle from Jack's hands.  
Jack rolled his eyes, but smiled when he payed the vendor.

 

Behind him, he could see Mark climbing up the low hill opposite of the ice cream man, towards the little picnic they set up, hidden under the shade of tall pine trees.  
The waterpark was a beautiful place. Despite the unbearable atmosphere in the hills, down in the actual park was splashy summertime fun- kids running around and their parents not giving a shit.

Ryan and Matt were probably in line for the giant water slide in the horizon, if Jack knew well enough.

Going up the hill, Jack was stuck in deep meditation.  
One more day.  
That's all he had before he had to go back home. His video supply he queued up would only last him until then. 

He couldn't possibly record in Mark's studio either- his fans would know he left without saying anything and Tumblr would be in shambles from conspiracy theories and rumors.

 

"What's got you down?"

Jack hadn't even noticed he was at Mark's feet.  
The redhead lay before him in loose trunks, as if he was a meal for his blue eyes to devour.  
The warm sunshine made his tanned skin glow brilliantly, droplets of sweat cascaded down the topography of Mark's sculpted abs as if that wasn't completely unfair of them to do.

He'd been missing out for sure.

To think, he was convinced a sound-a-like of this man was enough. His wanting for insatiable, and that was scary as all hell.  
Now every time they touch, Jack feels the uncontrollable urge to touch more. Every time they're close, he wants to get closer. He just wants them to exist together somehow- and that was fucking terrifying and all sorts of creepy and weird, and perhaps even desperate.

Jack stuck his cheery popsicle in his mouth to stop him from saying anything he would later regret.

 

Mark watched with suspicion as Jack silently flopped next to him on their picnic. "Picnic" being a loose term, they had a blanket laid on the grass and little containers of trail mix and chips were stacked nearby.

As he promised, the Irishman divulged his requirements for "alone time" to Matt, and the blonde promised to keep Ryan out of the know. Mark was admittedly salty that his editor knew about Jack's little crush before he did. He watched the two slim figures talk in hushed tones on the porch as Mark stood out watch to make sure Ryan wouldn't walk in on them making plans.

But he chose to say nothing.  
It's not like he was jealous or anything.  
It's not like his gut curled in a familiar envy whenever he saw Jack be close to another person, like the kind he felt when he was being all gooey with Walsh.

Idiot.

 

"Hey, Jack, I'm sorry about the Walsh thing."

He heard a muffled "what" in reply, sure that Jack was snacking on his lolly. Mark refused to meet his eye,

"Being jealous and- and possessive and all." He rambled, "I don't want to seem like a douchebag or like I own you, but you know I've been waiting for so long to spend time with you and it makes me mad to see you with other people who are just... who didn't wait on you for so long as I have! Who didn't stay up at night excited that you were going to come over! Who feels empty whenever you leave them! It's not fair!"

 

Before Mark knew it, he felt a soft hand rest on his shoulder. He hadn't even realized he was fuming in anger.

This was a mess.

Jack was leaving in a day.

 

"Mark," the particular sound of a slurp followed, "I... I didn't know."

"Good!" Mark felt himself grow red. He hated the sound of Jack being vulnerable. "It's embarrassing and I'm stupid."  
The waterpark is not the ideal place to become overtly sentimental, Mark thought to himself.

"Well, you're not wrong." Jack giggled.

 

The American finally turned to face him, to shoot daggers and berate him for ruining he moment, but instead he froze in place. Mark stared.

 

The coldness of the treat made Jack's usually thin lips become red and swollen, puffing out in a slight pout. The red melted juice dribbled off the corner of his mouth, down to his stubbly chin. Mark stared even harder, watching the liquid collect and drip down the edges of his phase.

A cherry-colored drop fell off, and the redhead followed it before letting his eyes trail over the expanse of Irish paleness beside him.

Jack's legs were still shaven from a few days prior. **Praise the Lord**. A few bumps and stubble have surfaced in some places, but overall, his smooth white legs were immaculate in Mark's eyes.

 

Those aforementioned legs curled up to the Irishman's chest.

Jack had noticed his leering. "H-Hey!" He spat, flushed. He used his half-eaten treat as a pointer, thrusting it in Mark's direction accusingly, "Don't be weird."

 

Without skipping a beat, Mark shot back, "Well don't be sexy, then I'll stop being weird."

 

Whether it be in annoyance or in excitement, Jack squeaked- loudly. He covered up his mouth with his free hand, before wiping off the red residue with his open palm.

 

"We're a pair of goobers, you know that right?" Mark laughed.

"Excuse me! I am a gift t'human kind!"

"You're a gift to me, for sure."

"Are ya looking at a 'back pickup line' list without me seeing 'er somethin'?"

"Nope. I don't want to be looking at anything else except you right now."

"Just now?"

"Ever."

 

"...I leave in a day, Mark."

 

"...We can make the most of the time we g-"

_Deep breaths, Jackaboy._

"I want t'stay here with ya forever."


	41. Can't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark says Jack can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: angst, sadness, panic, internalized homophobia.
> 
> SHOUTOUT TO **TOTORO492** , one of the quality sin blogs that I recently found out loves this fic for some apparent reason I know not of.
> 
> Also the lovelies in the comments who help pick out my spelling errors. I'll be more careful next time.

"You can't.""

Just like that, the bubble popped. No- more like shattered into a million tiny pieces, so small and insignificant that they could be mistaken for sugar or sand.

The world crumbled around Jack.

"I mean, I want you to... Fuck, I want you to. I'm so happy you want to." Mark reached forward, discarding the now eaten popsicle aside, and took Jack's free hand in his.

Nimble fingers began to tremble. If he dropped his cherry lolly, he didn't pay it any mind.

 

"But the- the consequences! What about your house, and your family... What will you tell people? Where will you stay? You're gonna break tumblr like this. Now you have to get a green card or..."

 

The sounds of water and play were overpowered with white noise. Jack felt like he could faint.  
Mark's rambling was now indecisive. No was a no, anyways.

 

It wasn't like he was angry or sad... He understood. His words came out without his permission. Heck, Jack wasn't even aware he wanted to stay in the first place. 

Yet, when the thought surfaced in their banter, he couldn't stop the influx of dream scenarios- a life in the hustle and bustle of LA, with Matt and Ryan, with his heroes the Game Grumps, with all these other creators so near and convenient... with Mark.

 

Mark shut up when he realized his friend had a dim, faraway look.

"Yeah. I understand."

The redhead's eyebrows shot up, surprised at the compliancy. "Y-Yeah?"

"Yes. I get it." Jack turned away, slipping his hand away from Mark's grasp. It broke his heart to see his friend reach forward to try to take his hand in his again.

 

Jack denied him the pleasure. His hands lay unmoving on his peachy-colored lap.

 

"It's not because I don't love you..." Mark began, words quiet.

 

Dread arose. Dastardly, venomous dread.

"Yes. I said I got it." Despite how bitter he felt, his words were weak and disappointed. Like seawater in calm weather, sifting back and forth, taking its time, uneventful and unrelenting.  
Just like so, Jack's chest remained to beat slowly but surely. Afraid it'll snap at the slightest of movement, the Irishman just sat there now with downcast eyes.

He could tell Mark was in a similar position. Neither looked up from the grass before them.

 

"I do love you."

 

Jack resisted the urge to snap his head back.

 

"I love you enough to know this isn't the right thing to do for your lifestyle."

 

Jack still said nothing.

 

"I wouldn't forgive myself if this city changed you. You're Jack- Jacksepticeye! Born in a cabin in the woods, raised up on bog water and smog!" Jack repressed wanting to hit Mark over the head, "You're energetic, and loud, and you love people but you also love some time to yourself. I know how much you hate being alone."

"You don't know what it's like t'feel alone, Mark!" Jack felt himself argue, throwing his hands up in the air. "You've got roommates and all th'people ya could possibly ever want, begging fer ya t'just glance at their direction!"

 

"People love you too-"

"Because they think I'm cute! They think I'm this energetic kid, who had too much sugar 'er coke 'er whatever! I'm the dumb Irishman stereotype, Mark! I'm Mr. Kawaii Desu Jackaboy here t'not be taken seriously!"

 

Mark just stared. But this one was not of love or admiration- but a certain kind of horror and disbelief. Everything was going wrong- so quickly, so unexpectedly.

"Jack..." Mark tried, testing the waters.

"No, stop!" Mark decided the waters were _evidently_ not well, "I don't need ya t'feel pity fer m-"

 

Jack got a face full of manly pecs as Mark lurched forward to catch the Irishman in an embrace.  
"You're sexy. And beautiful. Oh so talented and amazing. So many people need you, and that's stupid stressful to think about, but just know that it means that your love for life makes other people love life too."

He broke away to place his hands on Jack's shoulders, "You're more than what your subscribers think of you."

 

A harsh sting of insecurity began to unfurl in the pit of Jack's stomach- like a whip, leaving a burning mark behind on his ego.  
It couldn't be controlled, it couldn't be helped. The Irishman's mouth overtook him. He thruster the redhead's hand off him.

Insecurity was stunting him- hard.

"What if I'm not? What if-" he bit his inner cheek, "What if I love ya back because I've been led t'believe that I should..."

 

Mark was quiet for a few moments, trying to process the situation.  
"You think septiplier is controlling you?" 

 

"Don't use that tone with me!" Jack spat, feeling the shame and guilt resurface, "It's yer fault that we're in this mess! I never asked t'fall for a man! How could I have gone through my whole life without knowing I liked cock?!"

Brown eyes began to narrow, dangerously at that, "Are you saying gayness is infectious? Jack, that's ridiculous." From his voice alone, one could know that the youtubers was already beginning to lose his patience. "Not to mention homophobic..."

 

"I-I'm not a-" Jack threw up his hands, exasperated, scared, and above all, tired. "I don't know! Maybe it's some internalized thing!" He admitted in defeat. The stress was overwhelming.  
He'd always prided himself of being tolerant and accepting- for others, but never himself. Months prior, he never saw himself to be in this situation- questioning everything he once knew about himself. It was a whole different ballgame and the green-haired man refused to waver.

 

He just _knew_ the aftershocks were imminent. Jack just couldn't go one day without the debilitating gay panic whacking him across the face, could he? The Irishman seethed- more for himself than anything.  
His chest felt cold.

 

Yet Markiplier, the Angel he was, was still trying his damnest to diffuse the bomb that is Jack's emotions. The green-haired man's labored breathing was very telling of the anxiety attack he's currently fighting back.  
Mark spoke, "I knew I liked guys before I even met you, so I-"

"That's you! Not me!" The Irishman bunched up their picnic fabric under his fist- knuckles turning white. "I like girls! I like boobs and ass that belongs to a woman! I like softness and- and long hair and makeup and-"

 

"Oh my god, fucking _really_ , Jack?! You're pulling that card on me now of all times? Jesus... I didn't even-"

"I DON'T LOVE YA."

 

_Deep breaths, Jackaboy._

 

"...I can't love ya. Not fer- not fer reals. Not fer the long run. It's not possible. I won't allow it."

 

Jack, for all the world, couldn't comprehend how everything went so fast. At one moment, he was sucking a popsicle like it was Mark's dick, and the next he just told him he didn't love him.  
It was a trainwreck of epic proportions. The American in front of him seemed to agree. Wetness began to collect in the corners of the brown eyes before him.

 

"You can't possibly really mean that, Sean..."

Jack flinched. Mark pressed on, unsteady and breathing hard through his nose- most likely to keep his emotions spurring out of his control.

"You can't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, we'll return to happy funtimes joyful hour soon enough.


	42. Nothing Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Jack have a little chat while Matt almost drowns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Callback to chapter 7: Like Nothing Changed
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for the overwhelming support!

"I have never seen someone look so miserable drinking a slushie before."

Jack looks up to see Ryan, with his own slushie, looking at him like he needed to be protected from all the evils of the world.  
The Irishman seethed.

 

His big friend rolled his eyes, before taking a seat next to him in the little outdoor slushie store. His own drink was blue, while Jack's was green like his hair.  
One would argue that Jack has had too much sweet icy treats, but no, alcohol was not allowed in this waterpark (or any waterpark, for that matter) and this was his compromise.

The roof of his mouth started to hurt with the intense coldness.

 

Ryan takes one long look at the man next to him before he opens his mouth, "What did Mark do this time?"  
Jack freezes. From the slushie, or his own stupid feelings, he doesn't know. All he does know is that he has serious brain freeze.

 

The foreigner cradles his pulsing head in his hands, breath coming out in puffs.  
Ryan, at least, had the decency to look pitiful.

"Don't tell me it's not Mark, either. It can't be the waterpark! No one can ever be saddened by the waterpark!" Ryan smiles brightly, like a child, so full of bubbly joy and wonder. "I could be shot dead in this waterpark, and I'd exit this life happy."

"It could be something else..." Jack weakly says, still suckling on his straw.

 

His American friend cocked an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right? You might as well have a sign that says 'I HAVE ISSUES WITH MARKIPLIER' on your back. You've been acting weird every time you hang around with him." Ryan goes on, unaware of Jack's imminent heart attack.

Had Ryan known all this time? To think, they were being secretive about their little get-togethers.  
Then Jack remembers the ghosts of hickies that littered his skin- easy to overlook, but definitely there.  
He groans inwardly.

"The mall, the grumps' party, the- the thing with your legs!" Ryan explains, gesticulating under the table towards Jack's stubbly legs. The American shuts this mouth a few seconds. He adds, "You don't have to hide it- from me, especially."

 

Jack takes a glance, and sees his housemate offer a smile. Blue eyes look away. "You don't... understand." He cringes at the cliche nature of his own words, "I didn't want this..."

 

He probably should clarify. He's saying stuff as if Ryan already knew the situation. Considering the fact that his friend nodded, it may be that he actually does know.

Fucking Matt.

"Sometimes people just... belong with someone else, ya know?" Ryan licked his lips for a moment, before he turned away, "Matt and I, for example. We belong together as... friends- BEST FRIENDS, as business partners, as roommates..."

"But that's different!" Jack argued, a little annoyed, he churned he remainder of his slushie with his straw, "You don't have to worry about-"

"Changing your mind?"

 

Jack blinked. Suddenly unsure how to speak.

 

Ryan, the bastard, doesn't even seem fazed. He's tapping the bottom of his slushie cup, to get the remaining juice.  
"Is that what you're afraid of? If you change your mind and realize that being with Mark isn't what you wanted after all?"

He successfully gets the rest of the slushie to drip messily onto his face, covering his lips in a blue tint that makes it look like he just ate out a Smurf's asshole.

The corner's of Jack's lips quirk at the ridiculous mental image. Suddenly, his own drink seemed unappetizing. He sets it aside.

Still, the Irish-born's face drops. He mumbles out,  
"When did you become so perceptive...?"

 

To that, Ryan only shrugged, with a far-away look.  
Jack followed his line of sight to find a lithe, tall body dressed in blue speedos. The teen was knee deep in a tide pool, struggling to hold his own.

Matt, as if noticing the eyes on him, turns around and, upon recognition, waves. All before being swept off his feet and face planting into the water.

The pair return the casual wave facetiously, bearing witness to Matt floundering ungracefully in the pool , yet Jack felt uneasy all of a sudden. Dread started to increase tenfold in the pit of his stomach.  
It wasn't fair that Ryan and Matt could feel so secure and happy with each other- uncaring to all the rumors and beliefs that plagued their relationship. It all seemed so familiar, so intimate.

It made Jack feel anger- no. Envy.  
Matt, although probably drowning right now, is so confident in his vague sexuality and he also a has a sort of life partner who, not only is by his side and loves him no matter what, but he is also so certain he loves back.  
So unlike the dynamic he and Mark share- so unsure and insecure.

Just like Jack himself.

 

"You can belong with someone platonically, romantically... _sexually_..." The brunette gave pause to waggle his eyebrows, "But it's all impermanent. That's why you should cherish them! Because they don't last."

 

The green-haired man paused. Doubtful. Second guessing. "Maybe." He spoke.  
Ryan has a point. He should have been cherishing his time here with Mark while he could. He leaves tomorrow evening. Yet the repercussions were a daunting shadow lurking in the aftermath.

What happens when he gets back home? Will the redhead and him still continue their little love affair overseas? How much longer before something slips up in a video and people find out? What happens when his parents find out? When the fandom finds out?

Jack turns pale.

 

As if taking a cue, Ryan continues, "Having a relationship with someone doesn't negate the relationship you had before. You really did love your ex-girlfriends. That doesn't change. Liking cock doesn't change a thing. Liking Mark doesn't change a thing either. Nothing changes."

"Well, Mark IS a cock, so..."

 

The American starts chortling under his breath, and soon enough, Jack joins in on the surreptitious laughter.  
It's their little secret. Their little slice of joy in this turbulent time.

Jack, however at only an extent, knows that Ryan's speech was something from hard-earned wisdom. The Irishman looks to his friend, all crude and crass, but also heartfelt and sincere, and he wonders why the universe would ever punish him in any way.

He could have set a puppy on fire and Jack would just look the other way for him.

 

"Nothing changes." Jack repeats to himself, like a mantra, in a slow drone, under his breath. "Nothing changes."

 

He feels a hand clap his back, Ryan speaks, "Just don't think about it. Don't question how or... why... Or what happens next... We can't control a damn thing in our lives."

"Wow, way t'make me feel super." Jack sassed dryly.

"It's true, though!" Ryan interjects, "We're pretty useless. And that's okay. We just have to live with it. We just have to not think about it."

 

Jack ponders for a moment.  
He repeats, "Nothing changes."


	43. Deadlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Jack don't know what to say.  
> Matt has water in his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeyyyy if you guys know me from DeviantArt / Instagram, I'm here to tell ya that the pilot (first page) of Airport (Rooftop's sequel) is coming out later-ish!!

He finds Mark exactly where he left him- on the low hill, sprawled out on the picnic blanket, phone in hand.

Well of course, Jack unceremoniously left him and it wasn't like Mark could follow; someone had to protect all their bags.  
It would have been nice though, the Irishman thought, for his friend to come rushing in to sweep him off his feet and... do something.

 

Jack hesitates.  
Mark doesn't owe him an apology, but fuck it all if Jack's going to be the first to cave. Petty as it may be, he won't allow himself to be the pushover sub stereotype people believe him to be.

 

And petty indeed, because there's only one day left.

Fuck.  
Jack should stop reminding himself that; it's easier to be childish and give the Korean the silent treatment.

 

He steels himself as he realizes Mark had already noticed him at the foot of the slope. Jack climbs upwards, eyes trained of his feet.

 

"Are you okay now?"

It wasn't malicious, and for that, Jack feels himself start to get mad. How dare Mark not give him incentive to just shut him out?  
How dare Mark just exist as if it wasn't completely fucking up the styles and motions of Jack's life?

 

He felt defeated once he arrived at Mark's feet.  
The redhead waited patiently for an answer.

 

"I'm sorry about... being so forward about wanting to stay here. It was really clingy of me."  
Fuck. Jack is the sub.

 

Mark shakes his head- red wisps of hair brushing across his forehead. "It's okay. I'm sorry I was so rude about refusing. You know I wish I could do everything for you."

Oh wait. Maybe Jack isn't the sub after all.

 

Before Jack's mind takes his friend's words and twists them, he begins again, "What do we about... this?"

To "this", Mark deflates. His shoulders sink and his gaze becomes dark. Jack knows very well Mark had been thinking about this too. Words got lodged in his throat, and he Korean found himself unable to speak.  
As if there words to be spoken.

Jack found himself in a similar situation. He feared that once his lips parted, he'd just vomit words and promises and arguments he wasn't ready to admit to himself.

 

It was a deadlock.

 

Somehow, they both understood as much. It's as if they speak, they'll say too much but not say enough at the same time.  
It made Jack want to tear his hair out.

What were they to do?  
Mark, bless him, tried to smile. He pat the area next to him, hardening back to a similar motion earlier that sunny day. Jack is obliged. It was awkward to just stand around anyways. His back was getting burnt. Fucking Irish skin and all.

 

As soon as he sat, he felt his friend place a hand gingerly on his thigh. The gesture could be read in a number of ways, comforting or even sweet, yet to Jack's addled mind it was like the words _Let's fuck_ put into actions.

Languidly, the fingers on his skin moved up and down, caressing the stubble there. It made Jack want to cry out of frustration. He's still unsure if he should be mad, upset, heartbroken or horny- and the combination of those feelings was creating all kinds of exhausting thoughts.

 

"Jack."

Blue met brown.  
It felt like the first time every time.

Chestnut brown exploded in a golden sunset- rings of sunshine sparkled in the depths of priorly unforeseen specks of warm earth-tones. The brilliance was unmatched.  
Jack knew that someone had better looking eyes- brighter and more special- but this was different... Because his was Mark.

The redhead's throat bobbed. He was about to say something, but seemed unsure. Jack placed his hand over Mark's, urging him to go forward. There was nothing left to skirt around. Ryan had been right all along: there was no use in delaying himself from what he wants.  
Their time was short.

The Irishman looked up to Mark again, who said now, with refined confidence;

"Let's fuck."

 

 

Meanwhile, Ryan was trying to keep Matt from dying by doing a sloppy mouth-to-mouth resuscitation maneuver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky I'll finally be able to get some of the requests for kinks done.


	44. 37°C (or 98.6°F for the Americans)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt survives and goes to a sleepover with Ryan.  
> Mark and Jack work it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one for now.I hope y'all like poetic approach I'm trying out.  
> Next chapter will be v NSFW

It wasn't like Ryan and Matt were unaware of what was going on between Mark and Jack. So they spared no thought telling they need the house to themselves.

It wasn't like they minded anyways. Matt came to, eventually, when an actual qualified lifeguard came along and helped resuscitate the youngest of the four.  
Truth be told, the lifeguard approached the two because he thought that they were making out and that was a big no-no for a public place with children. Only when the waterpark worker took note of Matt's pallid complexion did he spring into action and help revive the American.

Matt asked why, when he woke up, his mouth tasted like slushie- deep at the back of his throat.  
Ryan stressed, unabashedly, that he didn't know what he was doing to begin with.

 

Once the group got dressed, Mark drove the Kids with Problems gang to the Hanson-Berhow residence where the couple had welcomed the two to sleepover with open arms. It's become a sort of practice, actually. Mark was almost always unavailable and having Ryan and Matt around was like a dry run of what it feels like to have rambunctious kids of their own.

Still, they raised eyebrows at the circumstance- it was all so unplanned and Mark and Jack couldn't stay.

A stern look for Matt was enough, however, to keep their questions reserved. They bade the two goodnight in synchronized unison- the kind you acquire when you've lived with each other long enough.  
At the back of his head, the Irishman wonders if he'd ever achieve the same kind of oneness with another soul.

 

As they depart, Jack swears he can hear Suzy ask Matt why his lips looked swollen before he got completely out of earshot of the front door.

 

They may have rushed to get out of the door (mostly because if they stayed, they were sure someone would start asking questions), but once Jack and Mark sat in the car, there was nothing but piercing silence.

The Irishman's ears began to hurt from the unrelenting ringing. Everything was so quiet. It was unnerving.

Without knowing it, Jack held his breath- afraid to break the calm before the storm.  
But things are never meant to last.

"So,"

 

Mark coughs dryly.

"Yeah." Jack licks his lips. His usually chipper voice sounds dull. He's been spent from the last few hours- his heart is on the fucking floor.

 

"This would be our last chance."

"I'll always come back to LA." Jack argued weakly.

From the driver seat, the man there shook his head. "Things change. Plans. Circumstances. Our free time is NOW."

The green-haired man laughs, but it sounds plastic, "Wow, so just when it's convenient, huh?" The teasing was meant to be light, but with Jack's tired voice, it sounds poignant with latent bitterness. He retracts,  
"We don't haf'ta if we don't feel like it. Look, I like ya and ya like me- fer SOME reason. We might never get th'chance t'pursue... this... again! But that doesn't mean we haf'ta rush into it."

 

The silence resumed tenfold.  
Mark lulled over the words. Jack, though, was grateful for their mature approach. It was about time they exhaust themselves from constantly bickering.

Yet feelings are meant to be felt; neither can help the wills of their own hearts. Again, Jack feels the urge to open his mouth- and yet, he was unsure of what it was that he wanted to say.

 

"I want to." A baritone spoke, earnest. "Do you?"

 

The innocence of it all made Jack burst out into a giggle fit. "Fuck Markiplier? Of course. Who wouldn't?"  
He feels himself flush over his brazenness.

At least it made Mark smile.

The wandering hand found it's way to Jack's thighs once more. To the irish-born, he feels that it belongs there now.

 

"So what?" Jack tries to push away the awkwardness with banter, "Are we gonna start this car or are we gonna ram right in front of th'Game Grumps' house?"

 

"Okay first of all," Mark removes his hand from Jack, and the Irishman heard himself whine quietly. "The Game Grumps is Arin and Dan, previously Arin and Jon. Suzy is a PART of the Grumps, but she isn't a Game Grump per se. She's only featured in Table Flip, Grumpcade, Ste-"

"Wow, really getting he juices flowing, aren't ya?" Jack remarks snidely, secretly being charmed by the little ramble.

 

Mark gives him a look, but it softens. "Secondly..." He begins. Mark leans forward, placing his lips against Jack's cheek, below his eye, "I want our first time- our technical first time... to be special. I want to prep you properly. No rush. We can just feel each other and let ourselves relax."

 

Jack must be a hundred degrees right now- well, not literally. But for sure, he had surpassed whatever the normal body temperature was supposed to be.  
Mark was too sweet. Too thoughtful. It made him want to throw up.

 

"Prep me? Wh-Who said I was even gonna bottom in th'first place?"

Mark quirks an eyebrow before resuming his position in the seat and starting the car. "That's real funny, Twinky McGee."


	45. Long Night Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tells Mark his ass isn't "that deep".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M IN SAN FRANCISCO. HOLLA!
> 
> Thanks for all your reviews! I read each and every one.

In romance novels, you expect the couple to come crashing in the front door haphazardly, with their tongues in each others' mouths. You expect the frantic shedding of clothes- passion driving the two beings (or more?) to simplify into their basic instincts.

 

But this wasn't a cheap book with some hunky Hispanic man on the cover. This was real life, and real life is fucking awkward.

They decided to stop at the drugstore before returning to their place of stay.

 

The Irishman outright refused to be the one to "fetch tonight's necessities" at the drugstore, and instead opted to wish himself to melt into the upholstery while Mark, hoodie in tow (to hide his face), went and bought some lube and condoms.

It took longer than expected for Mark to return, and Jack was already starting to become paranoid. Would Mark up and leave him? Change his mind and just deuce out?  
Jack looked at the empty driver's seat.  
His keys were still in the car. He felt at least a little relief over that.

 

Eventually, blue eyes caught sight of a gray hoodie hiding a messy top of red hair exit the glass doors.  
He looked like someone who would try to rob the cashier, Jack mused. He clicked the button next to him to unlock the car doors. The familiar click echoed in the confined space.

"Wot took ya so long?" He retorted once his friend got in the car, plastic bag in hand.  
Hopefully, Mark wouldn't be able to notice the light sheen of sweat collecting above Jack's lip from the nervousness.

 

Wordlessly, his friend threw the plastic bag into Jack's lap. Unceremoniously too, because the Irishman released an impish squeak that he would deny ever making for the rest of his natural life.

"Sorry it took me so long- there were too many choices, so I..."

He took a peek inside. At least 6 different condom packets were inside.

 

"Mark, what th'fook even." The green-haired man marveled disbelievingly.  
It was a good thing the car was being started, because he could feel himself grow hot under his clothes.

"I didn't know which one to get!" The Youtuber defended, "Like, does the inside of an ass feel the same as a vagina? Does it break? Can you get like... butt-pregnant? Are you even clean??"

Jack rolled his eyes. "I'm clean, dumbass. And no I can't get... Wot did ya say? Butt-pregnant?"  
Despite himself, Jack found himself laughing. It was all too ridiculous; here he was in a car with Markiplier, who just bought a handful of condoms because he was unsure of which one to get.

 

He kept needing to remind himself to take deep breaths.

 

Curious, and in need of a distraction (Had Mark always looked this good before?) he took a random sample. Jack read the lavender packet aloud;  
"Ribbed for her pleasure...?!" The Irishman sounded scandalized.

"Again, I said I didn't know!" Mark curled up on himself as he put his seatbelt on one-handedly.  
He turned backwards to reverse and BAM! Jack was hit with that action jawline.  
The shitty street lamp made his sculpted features all the more noticeable. Fuck.

 

Jack, disgusted (mostly of himself), tossed that one back into the pile and picked another.  
"Chocolate-flavored?" He thought about it. "You do know my gag reflex is about shit, right? Like I know I was taking that popsicle down earlier, but--"

"I know."

Mark blinked.

"I mean, yeah, I'm aware. It's... Not for me."

It was Jack's turn to be pushed into stunned silence.  
The fleeting thought of Mark sucking his cock was considered. A warm curling feeling enveloped him.

 

Jack pulled another condom from the grab-bag of wonders.

"Magnum XXL?" The passenger couldn't help his sly grin, "Mark, please. Don't flatter yourself. This will be loose on you."

"SHUT UP!" Mark barked, flustered, more embarrassed than angry. "You don't know my life!

"Are ya forgetting that I actually KNOW what yer dick looks like? I won't be surprised... or impressed, for that matter."

The redhead huffed, cheeks puffing out like a child who didn't get what he wanted. "Just you wait, Jackaboy, I'm gonna fucking... I'm gonna fucking make SWEET LOVE to you! It's gonna blow your mind! You'll come so hard, everyone in your family will feel that."

 

"Okay, first: ew." Jack's face contorted into that of disgust. He tried to shake the image off his head.  
"Secondly, you talk big game. You might disappoint me." He teased coquettishly.

Unbeknownst to him, his little coy act was actually a little sexy to Mark.  
The man cleared his throat. "What? You want me to undersell then?" The 26-year-old found himself amused by that. "Oh, Jack, I'm gonna put my penis in your butthole and it's gonna be... bearable. You might ejaculate, but it'll also be kind of gross and sweaty and--"

"Enough!" Jack interrupted in a fit of laughter. He had to clutch his sides to keep him from falling forward. Thank god for seat belts.

 

Again, the Irish-born dug deeper into the plastic bag. What his fingers lay upon didn't feel like a packet. It was a small box.  
Interest piqued, Jack pulled it out, thinking it was maybe a bottle of lube.

 

He was wrong.

In the dim light of passing street lamps and neon signs from the establishments that lined both sides of the street, Jack could read the words "ENEMA" on the little bottle.

He felt like fainting and choking at the same time. It's too real now.  
Suddenly, the shame resurfaced. You never have to "prep" if you're the one penetrating. To simply put, it's a "grab it and go" situation.

But now there's EFFORT. Jack might not like that.  
The last time he attempted to shove something in his no-no area (memories of the dildo haunted him), he just used a lot of water and awkward poses.  
Plus, the phallic object was fake and plastic.

 

God, why couldn't actual sex be like gay fanfiction?? So easy and effortless.  
There are some works of fiction there when they literally do it on a HORSE, or that it was a "spur of the moment" situation, and both parties just so happened to be both prepared for it.

 

"Spur of the moment, my ass." Jack said under his breath in spite, clutching the box like it was the reason for his transgressions.

"Uh, what?" Mark peered at his passenger, but made sure to use his blinkers.

Jack shook it off. "Nothing." He spat.  
Suddenly the night seemed less exciting, and more of just a hassle.

 

But he needed this.  
They need this.

For consumation, for closure... For something- but it was one of those things that you would regret not doing. That is, as if it could be avoided being done.  
It seems every motion would eventually lead to Mark and a bed.

Jack could suddenly just throw up and somehow, he just knew, it wasn't going to change the eventual main event of the night.

A unicorn could run by and nonetheless, they'll bone.

 

Jack sighed.  
It was going to be a long night.

 

 

When returning the godforsaken box into the pile, Jack could distinctly make out the outline of another similar box.  
This one wasn't lube either.

Jack felt himself compelled to ask, "Um, Mark... Two enemas? My ass isn't that deep..." He felt himself blush hard. His attempt at nonchalant banter became an awkward fail.

Mark suppressed laughter. "Again, it's not just for you. I figured if you weren't super into it, we could... Switch. Or take turns?"

 

"Oh."


	46. This One Has Sex*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Jack start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOP. got done from vacation. School starts in 4 days,but whatever. I got more time this season to do work.
> 
> Enjoy.

The situation was kind of like beer.  
Not that it was making Jack's head swim like he was drunk, but-

 

Hm.  
Okay maybe that too.

 

But here's the thing with beer, alright?  
That pale yellow tall glass is practically bursting with bubbles. The little suckers raise themselves from the bottom and buzz around on their way up. If you look close enough, you'd notice that the effervescence starts off slow, but then goes crazy faster and faster- fit to burst.

Yet, the foam at the top has no indication of movement underneath its surface. The creamy layer forbade the bubbles to show.

 

It was like how Jack was right now.

He stood outside Mark's door, blinking slowly, blankly staring at the doorknob, and yet he felt like his insides were having a fucking party. The slightest disturbance could make him projective vomit.

 

Our little hero took one last deep breath before he grasped the doorknob with clammy hands.

 

Mark shot up from the bed at the sign of intrusion, and immediately stood up. Jack which he didn't.  
Now they were just awkwardly staring each other down from across the room, not knowing what to do with themselves.

Also Mark was naked??

Jack tore his baby blues away from the dark blue briefs that hugged the Iplier family jewels. Sure, he wasn't completely naked, but he might as well be. He doesn't know if he should ask the redhead to cover up or take the rest off...  
His face, if not before, is now flaring up angrily. "Why are ya dressed like that?" He spat in annoyance.

 

Mark looked down at himself- all rippling muscles and sculpted abs like the grand douchebag he was.  
"Do you... prefer clothed sex or...?"

"Fuck!" The Irishman barked. "That's not what I-" suddenly the air escaped his lungs. He couldn't argue. Mark was being too earnest, too sweet, too considerate- it riled him up to no end. Jack just sighed.

 

Meanwhile, Mark just stood there, taken aback and twiddling his thumbs nervously.

 

Jack resisted the urge to cry. He turned on his heel,  
"Let me just... take off my clothes too- in my room."  
He was ready to leave all before Mark interjected, "Wait, no!" Jack looked back, "I want... I want to do it."

"To do what?"

"To... take off your clothes, dummy." Mark scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

Jack's clothes suddenly felt too thin.  
Voice raspy, he asked, "Why?"

Mark, still not looking directly at him, replied, "It's kinda like... unwrapping a present?"

 

The Irishman felt his heart flutter at the insinuations.  
In an effort to diffuse the tension in the atmosphere, the green-haired man jabbed, "Are ya saying I'm an object, Mark?" He scoffed.

To his surprise (then again, maybe not) Mark looked scandalized from the notion. In his deep baritone, he spoke.  
"I'm saying that you're a GIFT to me, Jack, and..." His voice falters, "I want to treasure you. While I still can."

 

There he goes again. Being too earnest. Too sweet. Too considerate.  
Jack caves in.

 

 

The first layer of clothing is always the hardest.  
Especially because they're not in the passionate, wanton, untamed, rip-your-clothes-off sort of mood.

Every bump, crevice, imperfection- anything and everything on Irish skin felt impossibly harder not to be hyper-aware of.

Which is more so problematic when Mark lightly ghosts his finger tips above the waistband of Jack's pants.  
This was it. Jack was going to die at the ripe age of 26 from being too aroused.

Mark sat on his bed with Jack standing in front of him- groin uncomfortably close to his friend's face.

 

Are you allowed to still call someone your friend while they're about to strip you before you have sex?

 

Yet, the ponders from that question lay ignored because holy shit Mark raised Jack's shirt a little bit, and his lips are pressing against the exposed skin of his hips and it's fuCkING ELECTRIFYING.

Jack's lungs felt void as Mark hooks his thumbs on the waistband of Jack and shimmies them down a little past his thighs.  
Now the Irishman's erection is front and center for all the world to see- just fucking directed point blank at the center of Mark's face.

For all it was worth, the redhead seemed unfazed by how close this dick was from touching the tip of his nose.

 

The Korean-German lowered his head and bowed closer. He kissed the inside of pale milky thighs, and Jack was going to lose it.  
The strange combination of plush lips and stubble rubbing on his sensitive legs at the same time made the aforementioned erection twitch in his underwear. His breaths turned shallow.

"Is this okay?" Mark asks to Jack's thighs, which, in retrospect, is kinda funny.

 

Unable to remember how to do the breathing thing, the Irishman absently nods his head. Mark takes this scatter-brained approval without hesitation and immediately went to TOWN on his fellow Youtuber's legs.

He nipped at the skin there, tongue darting out past his lips to lick short stripes up Jack's thighs. This was all before Mark began to lightly bite- like a pattern, licking then biting, licking then biting...

The room could be on fire and Jack wouldn't be able to notice. He might just be dying.

 

Fuck Mark and what he wants, Jack thinks.

 

The Irish-born throws his shirt over his green hair and flings it across the room.  
Mark looks up, just in time to get a face full of chest hair because Jack all but throws himself on top of the American.

The pair falls bad on the duvet together, skin hot on each other.  
It sort of fits, Jack muses, their bodies like this.

 

Jack climbs down and situates himself nice and center on the body pinned underneath him. He kicks off his pants the rest of the way down, and he swears he might have actually heard Mark whine at the action- betrayed, like a kid whose candy got taken from him.

The Irishman makes it his duty to return him his candy, one way or another.  
He licks a languid stripe up the side of Mark's cheek. The stubble feels oddly nice on the flat of his tongue.

It was sort of ridiculous (very ridiculous), but the American's slow foreplay was literally driving him insane. So fuck everything. Fuck the world.

 

Fuck Mark.

 

Mark, finally over his apparent betrayal, starts joining in on the action and cranes his neck up higher to give his partner easy access to the junction of his neck and jaw with a low chuckle. Sexy, but also flustered.

It might as well have been him painting a sign that says "PLEASURE ME HERE ->"

 

Jack takes up on that invitation and does to this area what Mark had been doing to him on his legs.

Lick. Bite. Lick. Bite.

 

The reaction is immediate.  
Whereas Jack was attempting to put a cap on it, deeply breathing but being silent during his turn, Mark seemed as though he was going to bust a nut right then.

He mewled and moaned, all gritty, reaching to grip at Jack's forearms while he was being felt up.

 

Hands explored his body for the second time that week. Nothing had changed and yet it was as if it was the first time once more. Jack felt himself smile against Mark's neck.

A pale hand brought itself between the two of them, and Jack rubbed across the expanse of Mark's abdomen- memorizing the lines and fixtures there. Mark thought nothing of it, continuing to grip onto his friend for dear life.

 

Jack briefly wonders if his neck is also this sensitive, but also, he doesn't want to know because Mark already knows about his nipple-thing and he was NOT going to cum first tonight.

 

Adamant, he slides lower, making sure his ass was right above the erection his friend was sporting.

Breathing hard, Jack fucking GRINDS.

Like, if they were two parts of a coffee grinder and they just had some beans put into them, those little bastards will be made into the finest fucking coffee powder ever.  
So fucking fine that if it was a type of pen, it'd be 0.01- superfine tip.

 

 _That_ kind of grinding.

 

Fuck these metaphors, honestly.

 

Jack gasps. Mostly because the grip on his arm is practically cutting the circulation to his hands, but also because it feels good??

Not the circulation loss- he's not THAT kinky.

It's the feeling of Mark's hardness, all hot and heavy, twitching underneath his bum. It gave him a sort of satisfaction, knowing he was giving someone pleasure. It might also be a power trip, seeing the rough and tough Markiplier pliant underneath him.

Yet, he just felt so **eager**.  
So eager to pleasure Mark.  
So ready to make him feel good.  
So set on making sure it's HIMSELF that does this to him- who pleases his Daddy.

 

Jack feels himself blush from the little trip his mind took right then and there.  
Well, at least how much more blushing you can do when you resemble Clifford the big red dog, minus the big and the dog.... So just red, basically.

 

And his name isn't Clifford. It's Jack.

Well... Sean.

 

What kind of fucking name is "Clifford" anyways??

 

Snapping out of it, Jack notices a strange sound. Mark has been whining this whole time, desperate and panting. It makes Jack want to pause his ministrations and take the time to ogle at the beefcake before him.  
Deciding against it (since Mark might actually choke him if he stops- he's so far gone), the Irishman arches his back.

The moment his balls rubbed against Mark's clothed dick, he realizes he must be so far gone as well,

 

Fuck it. He feels so adrenalized that he might just start doing push-ups or some shit on the carpet.

 

Mark loosens up in his grip, releasing his hold on Jack's forearm only to move his hand to Jack's face, cupping his cheek affectionately.  
"Kiss me, Jack."

 

Deep breaths, he had to remind himself.

Deep breaths before he plunges headfirst into this hot mess and full of starts making out with Markiplier.

 

He smells like sweat.  
Both of them do, actually. But in a good way.  
The summer air was poignant with a certain kind of heat that wasn't unfounded on the pair's skin and they languidly rubbed against each other in the best of ways.

Jack savors this moment.

A well-placed motion of the hips made the Irishman moan- the first of many tonight. The delicious friction on his balls made his heart pound almost painfully in his chest. He almost feels ashamed for becoming so excited so soon.  
Jack looks unto his erection in disappointment.... like when a mother is disappointed in her child for taking a cookie when she said they shouldn't.

Disappointed, not angry.

 

Yet, the redhead must have been just as riled up as he was. The moment their lips make contact, Mark pulls Jack's lower lip between his teeth and licks them.  
The arousal must be messing up something in the American's brain, because his aiming is off. Sloppy kisses were peppered all over the general area of Jack's mouth. A stray one almost hit his eyeball.

It was cute.  
That of which wasn't typically a word you used when grinding your balls on your best friend's rock hard cock while making out in your underwear.

 

But hey, life was about finding things from new perspectives.

 

Mark's other hand, after floundering around awkwardly beside himself, has fount it's way to Jack's hip. Without even rhyme nor reason, he plunges that hand into Jack's boxers from the back, effectively feeling up the curvature of his ass.

His hands, calloused, grope at the flesh there. Mark squeezes hard at his right cheek before smoothing his hand across the supple skin.  
The reaction is immediate. Jack feels like he might faint.

 

Those wicked fingers make their way underneath Jack's ass, right at the bottom of his... well, bottom.  
With swift movements, Mark purposefully flicks his wrist up and down.

The momentum of Jack's derrière jiggling like 83% of one of Nicki Minaj's masterpieces, the Anaconda music video, spurs the aforementioned dick-bouncing. And fuck if it isn't hot as shit.

 

The other hand on his cheek pushes him oh so gently away. Mark seems as though he's struggling to make coherent sentences. His mouth gapes, open and closed like a fish, with blacked out pupils and a line of spit rolling down his chin.

It's like staring at the sun. Jack can't look for too long.  
He attempts to close the distance between them once more, but Mark moves his head away. The hand on the Irishman's ass fumbles for purchase.

"Luh... L... L-Lube...!" Mark manages, barely.  
He turns his head to the side. Jack takes this time to notice how glassy his eyes look when he's with the fairies. His lips are a little swollen, red, and slick with spit.

Mark nudges his chin to the direction he was looking at, and the Irish-born takes this as a cue to stop being a weirdo and get in the moment.

 

What Mark was apparently trying to point out was the plastic bag of convenience store purchases that sat on the bedside table, watching them almost expectantly. Jack gulps.

 

 

Meanwhile, Chica and Lego sniff at each other in Ryan's room, blissfully nonchalant of why one of their 3 dads had them locked up there.  
It didn't matter. He had left 2 big bowls of kibble and some water. Some toys were there in the corner, haphazardly thrown in there from their frantic father number 1 of 3.  
They were fine, they decided, as they gnawed at one of the wooden bedposts of Ryan's bed together.


	47. Cherished*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm soooo fucking dizzy and sick and late and ((barfs))
> 
> Enjoy.

From the foot of the bed, Jack watched Mark squeeze lube into his fingertips generously.

The uneasiness must have been apparent on his face because Mark takes extra incentive to really lube up almost his ENTIRE hand up the to wrist...

Not because they were fisting, you perv!

...But they might as well be, because Jack feels that he's crossing all sorts of kosher borders on sexual practices.

 

He'd never admit it, but he's a very vanilla type of lover.  
It never got too crazy. It never got to the point that he'd bone with someone in public- a practice of which is starting to become a sort of habit with Mark.

However, there was this one girl he dated in college who he convinced to let him stick it in South. She was too hesitant, and honestly, it was infectious. It wasn't that great for either of them.  
Jack's dick felt like it was going to lose feeling from how painfully and unfavorably tight she was. He offered a solid week of foot massages to apologize for that mess.

 

Was this what she was feeling then? Nerve-wracking fear?  
What if he breaks? Is that possible?

What if his asshole never goes back to its natural tightness and he'll just have to live the rest of his natural life knowing that his rectum is a perfect mold to Markiplier's penis??  
The thought makes him pale.

Suddenly, the squeaky-cleanliness of his no-no area felt less "lemony fresh" and more like "bleached out dry". The last thing he ever wants this little endeavor to feel is painful.  
"Mark, wait-"

 

The redhead looks to him from beside the bedside table. His face of concentration softens to curiosity, before turning into concern.  
This confuses Jack before he realizes he's curled up, clutching the bedsheets tightly with his toes curled. He must look like a scared animal. It makes him sick.

Still, it was his rectum on the line.  
"Please... be gentle." The green-haired man's pleads feel pathetic. His face contorts into that of disgust.

He thinks to himself, why can't he just man up and not be a baby about it? After all, he's the one who wanted this. He should have been prepared for this.  
Jack grits his teeth in annoyance. This was all such bullshit! His face feels hot- from shame or anger, he doesn't know.

 

Unbeknownst to Jack, Mark put the lube down and reached over to place his (un-lubed) hand on his fellow Youtuber's thigh. Every nerve in Jack's body stiffens.

Jack resists to looks up... but does eventually; he doesn't want to be a baby about being a baby. That would just add insult to injury.

 

"Jack." Mark's voice sounds somber. Cold. Almost devoid of warmth.

Great, now he's going to call it off because he think it might hurt Jack, and it might even not, because Jack is just being paranoid and stupid and-

The hand on his thigh raises to cup his cheek.  
Mark kisses him softly.

 

He speaks, on top of Jack's lips, and the Irishman can feel every motion of his friend's lips on his own.  
"Don't be scared. I'll protect you. I'm here for you."

 

The saccharine words rung true in Jack's ear- so easily, that he feels almost embarrassed from how quickly he believes in anything Mark says.  
For all he knows, he could be a murderer and everything coming up to this point was a part of the plan to eliminate Jack for God-knows-what reason.

 

But he believes.  
Those brown eyes glow in the darkness of the room, only illuminated by the porch lights that shine dimly through the sheer fabric of Mark's bedroom curtains.

But Jack also knows his belief isn't misplaced.  
It's right where it needs to be. With Mark.

Jack also knows that he, himself is right where he needs to be...

 

With Mark.

 

 

The Irishman puckers his lips to peck upon Mark's one quick time before moving away. He smiles, and this time, it feels genuine.  
With an exhilarating fluttering in his chest, excitement not fear, he leans back, back hitting the duvet with a soft thump.

His knees are pulled up and, although he feels exposed, it feels a little sexy, actually.  
Mark places his hands at Jack's hips, circling his thumb on his hipbones lovingly. Jack melts at his touch.  
"Do you trust me?" Mark mumbles in his baritone, winsome.

The Irishman doesn't hesitate, "I trust ya." And yet, he adds, "I'm still... nervous, though."

"I am too."

"Ye're not the one taking up the ass first." Jack shoots back, unintentionally bitter in his tone. He falters, "But that's okay. I'm... Twinky McGee, right?" Jack laughs softly, throwing his head back.

 

Strangely, he didn't hear a duet to his laughter. Mark remained stoic and nonplussed. Jack should stop complaining. It's stalling.

He was about to defend himself, but Mark interrupted, "I'll go first."  
It was less of an offer and more of a declaration.

Jack blinks.

Mark takes his lubed up fingers, glistening in the pale light, and inspects them closely. When he seemed satisfied with their dampness, he took his dry hand and pulled Jack's boxers down.

 

Cool air hit Jack's cock, making him seethe through his teeth. Mark's lubed hand ran down his length once, smearing lube on it. He then took his other hand and started to pump Jack's shaft in a lazy pace- making sure the lube was evenly spread.

 

The Irishman arches hips back in a low whimper.  
Mark's next moves are so unexpected- it's equal parts amazing and annoying. He wouldn't be so responsive if he wasn't so in the dark about what comes next. 

"M-Mark...!" Jack gasps after a particularly rough jerk. His body feels hot, swear is beading in his forehead and upper lip.

 

The asshole only smirks, eyes eating up the feast before him: Jack all flustered and red, glistening with light perspiration, dick at attention.  
It makes his heart swell.

Steeling his nerves, Mark reaches behind himself.

 

 

It's not the first time Mark had laid a hand on his penis, but for now, it feels like it may be the last.

At least, for a long time.  
With this in mind, Jack spares no pride, bucking his hips up to Mark's touch for optimal pleasure. Fuck it if he seems desperate- he IS desperate.

Yet, the pace was aggravatingly slow and uneventful. It made the Irishman want to swat Mark's hand away and finish the job himself.  
It was all foreplay, for sure. The promise of greater things to come was keeping Jack on the edge more than the actual handjob he was receiving.

 

At least he can transition himself this time around. His heart would hate him if he kept going 0 to 100 real quick so often. Drake might not though.

Thinking about it, a lazy handjob before hardcore buttsex is kind of like the gay coitus equivalent to a light jog before a sprint.

The Irishman ceases his quivering and relaxes then. Mark is right; they have all night.  
No rush.

 

 

Jack's eyes shoot open when he hears Mark squeak.  
Alarmed, he cranes his neck upwards off the bed to see what's wrong.

 

Mark looks so rigid that it almost seems like that he could break a wall just by running into it fast enough.  
His head is lolled back so much so that you can almost not even see his pupils, on account of how far back they've rolled.

Jack's immediate response was that Mark must be in pain.  
Maybe he was getting carpal tunnel syndrome from jacking him off?  
Is that possible?

 

But the worries evaporated and was replaced by different sensations when Jack followed the redhead's broad shoulders, down to his muscular arms, to the hand that was hidden behind his back.  
Honestly, it took far too long for the Irishman to connect Point A and Point B, so that he could realize that Mark really was true to his word in going first, and thus, logically, was currently fingering his asshole open.

 

Jack's previously mellow half-chub is slowly gaining leverage.

 

He's bitter at himself for ever closing his eyes and ignoring the show before him: Mark, a hand fumbling to keep Jack hard (which is redundant at this point), and the other hand working it's way up inside him.

Briefly, the Irishman wonders how far he's gone- is it just his first finger? The first or the second knuckle? Or did he have two in there? Three?  
Was he scissoring himself wide open? Was he twisting his digits in a fast pace, occasionally driving deep? Are those moans from the anticipation or are they from him stabbing his prostate with his fingertips?

 

 _These_ are the real questions.

 

"Mark."

His friend snaps his eyes open. Red coloration seeps from his skin, from his head to his bare chest.  
Mark looks a little ashamed. Maybe he was already starting to lose himself?

Jack decides not to dwell on the idea less he gets carried away prematurely.

 

And the whole "whisky dick" ordeal is best left unrepeated.

 

"Baby," Jack coos, half-jokingly, "Are you having fun without me?"

Mark gives an embarrassed grin that, if posted on Twitter, would be under the #sorrynotsorry tag.  
As if apologizing, he stops the ministrations of his hands and cups the sides of Jack's face with so much affection, it makes Jack want to write a song.

His body somehow feels synchronized with Mark's- kind of like an iPad that successfully connects with a desktop immediately when plugged in.  
Jack feels the scherzo resonating between them, and basks in the intimacy of it all.

 

He feels cherished.

Not for his entertainment value.  
Not for how loud he can scream.  
Not even for how he can make others smile.

But as a body, he feels accepted and appreciated.

 

How can he not?  
With your nude form laid out to be picked out upon and criticized; all his scratches and dry patches of skin, his childhood scars and weird moles, that one mark on the back of his thigh that he should get checked out...  
And yet, Mark just looks at him as if it's the first time he's ever seen the sky before.

 

Wonder.  
Awe.  
Love.

 

Red hair strands brush across the expanded of Jack's forehead as Mark leaned close to place a chase kiss on his lips. It was obscenely gentle.

The Irishman relaxers his grip of his friend's waist, letting them sit on the top of Mark's thighs. He makes gentle circles with his thumb, lovingly, and melts into their sweet kiss.

 

All too soon, Mark parts with a soft wet sound.  
Jack was about to protest, since they haven't had the chance to deepen their "activities", but Mark spoke first.

"Now hold on tight, Babygirl." He speaks, breath ghosting on Jack's mouth, "I'm gonna fucking stick your hard cock in my ass and ride you silly."


	48. The Deep End*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark goes first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE GOOD THINGS YOU'VE BEEN SAYING, AND I HOPE I DON'T DISAPPOINT, IT'S BEEN SO LONG, OH MY GOD, ENJOY

Jack would be the first to say that he's not, by any means, a virgin.

He's had his fair share of the frisky lifestyle. He's been through some adventurous sexual journeys in his past years.  
Just none with another man.

 

You'd think it wouldn't be any different: a butt is a butt regardless what kind of genitals are near it.

But then again, it's sort of not also?

 

Because Mark has his calloused, big hands flat against his check, steeling himself for the plunge he's about to take. His hips lack the usually curve he's used to- and instead, he feels the tense muscles there. Not saying that every muscle in his fellow Youtuber's body isn't tense- he looks as if he's about to burst a vein at any moment now.

His hair was matted down to his forehead, eyebrows furrowed together, obviously gathering his nerves. The dictionary definition of "concentration" was visible on his face. The previously "light sheen of sweat" were building up into little beads of sweat that cascaded down his form.

For some reason, Jack suddenly felt jealous. What he wouldn't give to be a bead of sweat running down the entirety of Mark's sculpted abs?

 

What the fuck did he just think.

 

Jack was so distracted by the odd direction his mind was going that he wasn't aware of Mark's slow sinking- he only regained senses over the sensation of something lightly grazing the head of his dick.  
That "something" being the pucker of Markiplier's asshole.

 

The Irishman briefly wishes they had been able to pick up a defibrillator while they were out doing errands before this. It felt incredibly important at this very moment.

"Mark-" The sound of his voice was at least 98% breath, such that it could have been mistaken for a particularly haggard exhale.  
The redhead pauses- asshole just sitting on his little condom-covered boober-head. "Yeah?"

 

Jack tries to ignore the primal urge to buck up and slam his Sushi Love Roll up Mark's Anal Fortress. Jack also tries to remember how to speak in coherent words, because what the fuck happened to his fourth grade English?  
Mrs. O'Kelley, his old teacher, would be so disappointed. Not just about his horrible metaphors, but just about him in general.

 

"Are you- s-sure?" He bites the inside of his cheek, eyes flitting between Mark's face above him, and Mark's erect Purple Vein Cane pointing directly at him, accusingly. He almost wants to reach over and push it aside to be able to bear witness to his personal Cockness Monster about to have its first taste of man-flesh.  
Of course Jack wants Mark to be comfortable but also, at this point, if Mark decides to back out, he might as well die from blue balls. Jack crosses his fingers.

 

So here's the thing about sex (or in this case, pre-sex):  
No one, and I mean NO ONE, looks as attractive as they seem like they should.

From where Jack lies, Mark looks like he has at least 3 extra chins. His trembling thighs, from being suspended just above his Gyrados' Bubblebeam, have pronounced veins running down, which match the ones on his arms and biceps. They look a little bit like map roads or like lightning- creating a static pattern under his bronzed skin.  
Yet, to Jack, he looks pristine- and it's more than just the haze of lust disrupting his vision...

 

...It's because he loves him.

 

The American smiles, soft and quiet. He tilts his head just so, going from sexy-times-Mark to friendly-conversation-Mark. "I'm fine, babygirl. Trust me. We're just friends doing each other a favor." He pauses a bit and Jack notices a stray hair going over his left eye. "You can ask me to stop if you want me to- any time."

The younger of the two laughs all of a sudden. The unprecedented jolt of movement causes the tip of his Master Spelunker to ever so slightly press between soft mounds. "I'm afraid that if I start, I can't stop." Jack admits, his pink-tinged skin becoming more flushed a hundred times over. He turns his head, hoping that the pillow situated underneath his head could soak up some of the sweat he knows is being formed above his brow.

 

A soft pair of lips find their way on his cheekbones. It was soundless. Secretive.

 

"Jack."  
"Yes?" He tries to move a little bit- the feeling of Mark's lips moving on his ear- his slightly chapped lips barely grazing his earlobe was going to make him lose consciousness.  
"What are your favorite flowers?"

Jack blinks.

 

"Um, I guess- uh..." He paused to remember what even is a flower, much less which was his favorite.

 

"I guess sunflowers..." Jack tries to sound convincing. He really doesn't know at the moment. "Why ye ask?"

 

Mark arches his back, removing his lips from Jack's face. His thighs tremble a little more against Jack's own pair. He shrugs.  
There was a sparkle in his eyes that Jack has only ever seen before in snakes.

The redhead's baritone rolled out, sexiness in spades, "I just want to know what kind of flowers I should throw on your grave when I murder this dick." He declares with finality before he drops- fully sheathing Jack's cock in himself.

 

 

So maybe Mark really was fingering himself when Jack was distracted because wow, this man could fucking take a dick like a pro. Jack was a little worried of the probably burn Mark was probably feeling in his sphincter right now, but also, there's a hunky Asian-German bouncing himself on his penis- so really, why complain?  
He hadn't even realized he'd been using his friend's hips like handles, holding onto them for dear life as Mark takes up on his word of riding him silly.

It gives him vertigo- the almost painful feeling of tight pressure all around his shaft. It was as if it was sucking his penis deeper in itself. Mark, if his deep moans were any indication, wanted more. The bouncing evolved into circular rocking, trying to get more and more inside of himself.

Jack almost wanted to stop Mark and ask him to slow it down. Whatever happened to have "we have the whole night"? He was about to explode and shoot baby batter at this very moment.  
You'd think that the rubber encompassing his Hot Rod would actually prevent that event from happening- but the whole first-time newness of it all was causing impact like no other. His breaths were coming in and out in shallow gasps, peppered with "ughs", and "Marks", and "oohs".

 

Speaking about peppers, somehow Mark's spicy, lust-filled expressions were finally replaced. His head was lolled to the side, eyes a little crossed and ready to roll back into his head. His lips looked particularly red, caught between his upper and lower teeth. It must be bruised right about now.

 

Hm.

Hey.  
If Batman got hurt, would he be Bruise Wayne?

 

"SHIT!" Mark cries all of a sudden. He looked almost electrified- his movements stumbling. "Shit shit SHIT!"  
"A-Are y...?" Jack was so out of it. Holy crap.

"One more." Mark seemed to be begging to someone as he saddles up and tried to regain his pace, shifting his hips from side to side. "Oh god, that was so fucking good. Fuck."

"Prostate?" Jack blindly guessed. He tried to help Mark by guiding his pelvis around. As confirmation, Mark only sunk deeper.

 

"Shit, Mark! Calm down!" The mop of damp green hair berated. "I'm gonna fuckin' cum already if you keep doing that."

His partner almost looked sheepish. Letting up and raising a little.  
It was too hot. Too hot and too tight.

Thank the heavens that the condom came pre-lubed, along with the gallons of lube Mark seemed to already use to slick himself up. The friction was a little rough, but not too rough to prevent moment. And how responsive too. The simplest of upward thrusts, caused pressure like no other. He felt himself turn hot.

 

"Jack, please. I-I need it. One more."  
"Ya fucking' got yerself riled up when ye fingered yerself, didn't ya?" Jack accused, gaining some traction before roughly bucking up. Mark emits a shrill squeak.  
"Fuck you!" He growls. "You feel really fucking good, okay? I've been fucking waiting for this for so goddamn long, fuck you fuck you fuck you!"

 

Mark has 100% lost it, Jack decides.  
It's the only way he would ever admit to that. It makes him smile.

He teases, "Oh? Ye-" Jack moans softly, feeling Mark's ass go taut. "Ye really want me, don't you?"

"Shut the fuck up, Jack." The Youtuber slowed down in his ministrations, now just doing subtle circular gyrations. However, his glare held no actual danger underneath it. He almost seemed embarrassed.

 

Jack connected the dots.  
"Are ya a sensitive lover, Mark?"

He almost seemed offended. "What...?"

Jack went forward to pick up pace and piston his dick in shallow thrusts in and out. "Are." Thrust. "You." Thrust. "A sensiti-"

 

A long groan erupted itself from the redhead's diaphragm- so guttural and innate. Like a language in his bones, so ancient and instinctual. His shoulders started to shake. "Jack..." He huffed. "You-You're wearing a condom. This isn't fair. You're not getting the full experience."

"Excuses, excuses." Jack flippantly rolls his shoulders, continuing his shallow routine- never going deeper than an inch or so.

 

Suddenly the tight heat is gone. Mark pulls his dick out.  
Uncoordinated hands remove the condom in haste. It snaps on his skin twice, causing Jack to give surprised yells of pain.

 

"Let's see how well you do in full sensitivity." Mark grumbles, mostly to himself, if not directly at Jack's penis, which he seems to be having an angry stare-down with. "Talk shit; get hit."


	49. An Impasse*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Mark find a compromise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gomen for being away. I was working on my Airport comic and I was busy turning 18 last Friday.  
> I hope this hotbed of sin is worth the wait- leave a comment! I appreciate and read each and every one.  
> When this series inevitably ends, I'll begin anew. I

So Jack is in a bit of a conundrum.

 

Mark had elected, after re-lubing up Jack's meaty pole, to lie down on the mattress, legs raised up to Jesus.  
Actually, nevermind. Let's agree to never mention a religious figure in moments like these...

 

A particularly sudden curl of the fingers caused Jack to jump in his skin.  
"JAYSUS, MARY, JOSEPH AND ALL O' TH'ANGELS AND SAINTS."

 

 

Anyways,

 

You'd think that letting Jack control the speed and rhythm of their horizontal tango would mean Mark giving up control, right?  
Jack had a similar train of thought, which has, unfortunately, been derailed.

 

He's got two thick digits curling up inside his "wreck'tum" (as Mark said it would be at the end of the night), and his own flesh sword buried within Youtuber gaming sensation Markiplier.

Jack swears that if Mark's arm, reaching out towards his ass, hadn't been at his hip bracing him, he would have already keeled over and fell off the bed.

 

Mark, on the other hand, was rock solid.  
And no, not like, erect.  
....Well, that too.  
But rock solid, as in steadfast and unperturbed.

 

You pervert.

 

It may have been because of one of the two options:  
1\. It wasn't Mark's first time with a man. (Which has its ups and downs. Good news is that he knows what he's doing, but bad news is that Jack doesn't- at all.)  
2\. Mark isn't the one who is caught in the crossfire of the pleasure-train to bust-a-nut city.

 

Every thrust would cause Jack's dick to twitch- being plunged into the tight, lubed, heat of an arguably attractive man.

 

Wait, nevermind. Mark just looked at Jack a certain way, and Jack can very much confirm that Mark is universally attractive.

 

Meanwhile, to pull out would mean that a pair of foreign objects would be further pushed inside his already-too-loose asshole.  
Not that it's a bad feeling, actually. Just strange.

Whatever possible burn or discomfort has been shrouded by the sporadic clenching Mark is teasing Jack with.

Now, the Irishman is very much inclined to possibly cease all motion (not to think, not to blink, not to even breathe), and to stay in this moment for as long as possible. Yet, that's not really an option considering the redhead under him's... um, supportive words.

 

"Fuck! FUCK! FUCK! Yes, Jack! Give it to me good. Get that dick all up inside of me. It's what you've always wanted, right? To feel me like this? See me all exposed and naked underneath you? Shit, look at my cock- it's so fucking hard- hard for you. You're so fucking sexy like this."  
Jack falters, for just a second, and immediately, he's noticed.  
"You turn me on... Hey, hey, don't slow down, keep going, Babygirl." Jack replies with a needy mew, that sounds almost animalistic than human. Mark, ever the good commentator, does not cease, "Keep fucking me. Keep thrusting, keep your hips just like that. Don't stop. Make me feel good. Make your daddy feel good."

 

You feel me?  
You feel this problem?

Bourbon_Neat, eat your heart out.

 

The Irishman couldn't even begin to fathom how he was able to settle for an alternative to the real thing for so long.

Jack wouldn't be surprised if, due to his eloquence, Mark would just end off with a "like, comment and subscribe!" at the end of his spiel.  
It was so well-articulated that he wouldn't feel surprised if this was scripted.

However, his worries and fears of a cameraman popping out from a corner and Mark announcing that this was all an elaborate prank for an episode of STR8-2-GAY was quelled whenever Mark would stutter or gasp suddenly.

 

Both of which were quite rare. Jack could count all instances of such happening on one hand alone in the past 20 minutes, of which were comprised of mostly himself making enough audio input for 48 different pornos.

 

"Mark, Mark..." Jack gulps hard and fears he may have swallowed his tongue.  
The Asian's guiding hand on his hip slows down. Those big hands caused a shiver to roll up Jack's spine.  
"Yes, baby?" He asks without a hitch.

It rolled off so natural on his tongue. Jack wondered for how long Mark had been calling him "baby", "babe", or other words of love, in his own alone time- away from prying eyes and curious ears.

 

Which, coincidentally, was where they were at now.

 

"Mark, Mark..." Jack was a little relieved that he had not actually ingested his tongue, despite his voice coming out faint and strained. "I... I'm gonna..."

"You're gonna cum?" Mark perks up.

Jack could only moan as a nod of acknowledgement. He swivels his hips a little side to side, making sure those fingers would spread him out nice and easy.  
Mark complied, scissoring ever so gently.

 

"Alright, Babygirl, don't scream to loud, okay?" There was a lilt in Mark's previously calm baritone. It was obvious how excited he was to have front row seats to "Jacksepticeye cumming in Markiplier's ass while being fingered: The Movie'.

To himself, Mark hoped he'd be able to be energetic enough for a sequel afterwards.

 

Yet, Jack, with surprising amounts of firmness, latched on to Mark's forearm. "Stop! St-Wait!" Mark could feel Jack clench- catching his fingers tight so that they couldn't move.

Marked patiently waited, confused and a little frightened.

Jack was also on the same wavelength. Not believing he's actually fulfilling what he had been thinking of for the past 19 minutes of their 20 minutes of love-making.

 

Red-faced, Jack begins, "I can't... I can't cum..."  
"Did you drink whisky again?"

That earns Mark a hard smack to his side.

"No! It's not... I..." Jack bites his lip. The gesture is nothing short of endearing to Mark. The Irishman sighs, as if in defeat, "I don't want t'come like this... I want to... I want..."

 

Growing irked and honestly panicked, Mark nudges Jack with the hand on his hip. "Jack-"

"I WANT T'COME ON YOUR COCK, OKAY? THERE, I SAID IT!" Jack snarls out, loudly, such that Mark is still processing information.

 

Jack could tell the moment that Mark was able to let the words sink in, because he feels a shiver run down the hunk of manmeat underneath himself.  
That hand gingerly regained hold on the green-haired man's hips. "Babygirl," he coos.

 

It's so lovingly sweet that Jack feels sick. There's a haziness in the air that he just couldn't grasp- but it was there, making it hard to breathe or think.  
The atmosphere was thick and yet light, as if Jack could be blown away at any second, but also be unable to move.

What was being shared between them is eluding capture by logic and reason.  
And for once, that was okay.

 

Mark slowly and carefully pulled out his digits with a slick noise that brought up redness to Jack's face and neck. It was obscene to hear.  
Jack backs up, letting his python feel the open air.

Mark sits up. "So?"

"So?" Jack echoes.

A dark look graced his usually soft features, "Get on your hands and knees. I stretched you out already, didn't I?"

 

Jack curls up on himself. "Wait I... It's my first time...!" Jack closes his legs and holds himself, protecting his nude form from his best friend. "I want... Shit. I'm sorry, I want so many things--"

"Ssh, no it's okay." Mark crawls forward on the bed and sits himself to Jack's left. He curls his arm around him and pulls Jack's head in between the juncture of his head and shoulder. "It's okay to want. I only do what you want me to do, okay? You don't need to feel bad."

Jack loosens his grip on his shoulders, letting his arms fall on his lap, next to his admittedly still-erect penis.

 

It was the first time in the night that Jack felt sure of himself, and that sudden brazen attitude scared him. Which was a little ironic, actually.

Jack mumbled something unintelligible.

 

The redhead leaned forward, soothingly rubbing circles on Jack's shoulder, which now, apparently, is smeared with lube.  
"Speak up. I need to know what you want."

"I want ya t'look at me while ya make love t'me." Jack's voice was barely above a murmur- so vulnerable, yet volatile.  
The words were buzzing with condensed emotions- barely holding together, like Jack himself.

 

Before Mark could react, he beat him to the punch, "Ya said t'go on my hands and knees and I... didn't realize how badly I wanted ya t-t'look at me until I realized there was a possibility that ... I couldn't... Mark. Mark shut up. Mark don't look at me like that! It's embarrassing!"

The redhead lurched forward towards Jack, who tore his head away from the comfortable place it found on Mark's shoulder. Still, Mark had caught him in an embrace.

 

You'd think that a naked, slick hug between two very erect men would be super hot and horny, but truth be told, this was possibly ripped straight out of some feelsy drama scene from an all-white-cast movie.  
Except instead of Claire Danes and Leonardo "I have an Oscar now, fuckers" DiCaprio, it was a too-loud Irish carrot-potato hybrid and Team Instinct member (which honestly says more than you think about a person).

 

Jack tried his best to hide his face- maybe preserve some dignity. To no avail too because Mark was practically bound onto his friend, arms grasped tightly, legs forcefully trying to intertwine with Jack's (which uncomfortably pinned his dick in a weird way against his thigh), and peppering kissed across all and every inch of visible pasty, pale skin.

"You're embarrassing me...." Jack bit his inner cheek. He flinched away, feeling a particularly heated kiss on the sensitive skin behind his ear.  
Mark continued to lightly graze the spot with his two front teeth. "I can't help it. You're too cute like this. My baby. My Babygirl. My sweet Jackaboy."

 

The Irishman tries to cover up his feeling with some sass (typical) "Yours? You sure about that?" The laughter that follows is forced.

One final kiss, this time at the corner of Jack's mouth. He can't help feel robbed. "Mine." Mark says with finality. He pulls back, hair backlit from the light streaming from the window. Jack recognizes a look of worry on his features.

 

"But Jack, you can't not be on your hands and knees." Mark further pulls back, sitting on his knees. The younger of the two leans forward on his elbows. A sort of push and pull reaction- like the tides of the earth and the moon. Where he goes, the other follows shortly.  
"It's your first time and... It will hurt you if you're on your back."

"But-"

"Not but's, Jack. Well, except maybe this one..." Mark snakes his hand up the side of Jack's (slightly hairy now again) leg mischievously, which is promptly kicked away.  
The redhead takes one look at Jack's adorable pout and comes forward to pepper him in kisses once more.  
Jack attempts to recoil,

"You'll get hurt."  
"I want t'see you."  
"Next time."  
"What if there isn't one?"  
"There will be."  
"Ya can't promise me that."  
"I can and will."  
"Let me have this."  
"Let me keep you safe."  
"But I want you..."

Jack hadn't meant the whimper that escaped him, but he's glad it was able to sway Mark's resolve.

 

Suddenly, he lit up. He smiled, almost scarily. Jack furrows his eyebrows in worry.  
"Wait here." Mark bade before jumping out of the bed and springing out the door, throwing it open.

Which, with his bare butt exposed, was pretty funny.

 

Still confusing, however. Since he had no idea what had possessed the man to just act like that.  
What followed was scrapping noises from the hall and short heaving noises. Jack mentally facepalm'd.

 

Afraid and irked, Jack sat at the edge of the bed in order to find what sort of hijinks Mark had gotten themselves into.

 

At the doorframe, illuminated in a pale orangey glow from the light outside, stood Mark dragging a tall mirror with a silly look on his face.  
The revelation made Jack's stomach drop. Acid bubbled up and was present in the back of his throat. The possibilities ticked themselves off in his mind...

 

"...M-Mirror sex?"

Mark bared his teeth in a shark-like grin.  
"Mirror sex."


	50. A Moment To Reflect

Mirrors are strange.

 

...eloquent, I know.

But they're strange in the way that they pick up what's really there.  
Mirrors show their own versions of the truth in those respects. A funhouse mirror perceives what is real and reflects it in a way to show what it's knows to believe is the truth.

 

...are you still following me?

 

Where am I going with this?

If last night, on the mirror, Mark had been tenderly making love to Jack (lips on the back of his neck, whispering praises and words of affection in his ear, caressing his sides, et al) then that means it must be real.

 

Except when Jack wakes up to nobody at his side the next day, 'homecoming day' he dubs it, then he concludes it must not have been.

 

Last night they tumbled and tossed in the sheets, all but stripping the cotton off of the mattress.  
Mark had been patient, if not too slow. His fingertips drew soft patterns on Jack's skin- no marks of nails or purpling bruises to mar pale flesh- like Jack had secretly hoped.

 

Perhaps it was too hopeful (and kinky) for the Irishman to wish for ruination on the first night.

And maybe only night.

Yes, he knows Mark promised him more, but you can never get your head in straight in the heat of the moment.  
Everyone says things they don't mean, Jack understands.  
Had he not committed that himself, then he'd have a lot to testify for in the court of law. The corners of his mouth grace into a smile of amusement.

 

Blue eyes look down and find himself clean but naked. He distantly remembers a hell of a mess the night prior- especially after round 3 or... 5.

White spilled between his and Mark's fingertips, intertwined in some weirdly-romantic hand-hold on his dick.  
It was surprisingly the most off-putting thing in his memories. Something so earnest doesn't seem to belong in such an intimate activity...

And yet, when Jack flexes his fingers he can sense the phantom feeling of another set of digits between his.

 

How thoughtful of Mark to clean him up afterwards. The Korean-German must have been exhausted by that point in the... night? Early morning? A quick glance at the clock tells him it's almost lunch time.  
Jack can't say he hates the gesture, but it's also... upsetting.

It's upsetting in the way that, due to the absence of a body next to his, gross organic fluids seem to be the only evidence of what happened before his sleep.  
Well, that, and certain pains.

 

Jack oh so gently lifts himself up off the bed. He expects it to hurt, and goddamn it, it hurts to be right.  
His lower back aches with strain and misuse. That's on his part, to be honest, for trying to twist to capture Mark's mouth in his own.

But he still blames Mark for it. It's always Mark's fault somehow in his mind. Being here, discovering more about himself... All Mark.

 

A singular neon pink post-it that's stuck to the bedside rids his wishful thinking of breakfast in bed and a morning cuddle partner.

_I'm sorry I'm not there. Had to record something important! Please don't disturb. I'll make it up to you! :(_

Two pills and a glass of lukewarm water lay next to note.  
Jack supposes it's his way of saying "thanks for the fuck", but in a loving way.

 

It could be worse, he thinks.  
Then he really thinks about it.

He thinks about the flight in a few hours, and the relationship he will have with Mark from here on out.  
It's a pretty arrangement- very objective, and casual.

 

But Jack's heart sturdily years for something closer because his heart is a dumb piece of shit.

 

How much closer can you get to the feeling of another man's cock penetrating you between a layer of latex and lube?  
Fingers in your mouth, lapping at fake flavors on the skin between digits.  
Stubble on chin creating mild burns on the trail down.

How much closer than, essentially, being inside someone else's skin, someone else's guts?

 

Jack finds himself selfish. Greedy.

And sad.  
The wetness making his vision blurry tells him that.

What could be so important to record that Mark would leave him high and dry? Had it been intentional? To leave him and avoid the confrontation?  
If so, they'd have to face each other soon.

The time ticks on, and it yet, it feels like it has stopped altogether. It's like this entire morning-after is like thick honey, dribbling off the side on his coffee mug. Slow and sickly sweet and irritating and sticky and uncomfortable.

 

Like an author has spent weeks, or months, maybe even a year getting to this part, and the words are so flippantly poignant that it racks your body with due regression.

...or some shit like that.

 

 

With bated breath, Jack thinks back to where it all began.  
Not the high socks or the piercings, not the dildo in the sweater, not even the audio calling him Babygirl.

He thinks about the first time he sees Markiplier on a computer screen with shit connection because his mother kept accidentally plugging their computer with malware.

How far he's come.

 

Jack weeps.  
The mirror reflects it, so you know it's true.


	51. Homestretch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye doesn't feel good

Hot.

Then cold.

 

Then hot.

And cold again.

 

His skin riots red at the treatment, but Jack doesn't pay any mind- being subject to the full scope of Mark's shower temperature setting. It's strangely refreshing, especially given the sensitive situation he's in.

Despite his last night's lover's best efforts, there remains some telltale signs of sexual activity on his person. It's a sobering action, he realizes bashfully, fingering your ass open to allow come to run down his leg.

 

Because yes, the condom broke. From the friction, from the effort, maybe the damn thing was just faulty, but at one point in the night, the latex pulled apart.

It wasn't like Jack was getting knocked up. The slimy feeling in his rear was just a little too real for him- a little too nitty gritty.  
Ironic, the Irishman finds it, to be doing everything he can to AVOID that one spot inside him that Mark had pressed into over and over again with wild abandon.

Was it embarrassing or arousing, Jack asks himself.  
Maybe a little bit of both.

 

Sex is far from fantasy at his age, but it's admittedly been a while since he'd had to face the consequence from a romp in the hay.

It's off-putting, let him be.

 

There's shuffling outside, along with footsteps he recognizes to be Matt and Ryan's. He should thank them for their part in last night's proceedings. They had been strangely pliant- and Jack ponders if he'd do the same for them.  
Matt- he knows by how light the noise his walking made- knocked. "Jack, is that you in there?"

"Yeah!"  
Huh.  
When had he started sobbing?

 

If God was merciful, the noise of water hitting tile had hidden the pitchy quality of his voice. "Where's Mark?"

"Recording." He tries to say it without spite.  
Tries is the keyword, because even Matt seems taken aback.

"Really?" Incredulous.

 

Jack neglects to answer. His silence would be confirmation enough.  
And it was, considering how the pitter-patter migrated out of earshot. He's not sure whether or not he wants someone to call Mark out on his lack of morning etiquette.

On one hand, he doesn't want to seem like it meant something more to him than it did to Mark.  
On the other hand, it obviously did.

 

Two pairs of footsteps bustled around the kitchen down the hall- have they eaten already? Hopefully the Berhow-Hanson residence had allowed them the pleasure.

Weird how Jack can identify them by their footfalls alone, he realizes. after living with them for such a short time.  
Perhaps his body craved for company more than he realized; Jack's body was practically yelling at him to call these people his family.

 

But they weren't.  
Not by any stretch of imagination.

 

Maybe very close friends- but definitely not family.  
You don't fuck family. That's illegal.

 

Jack finds himself smiling.

Ryan would have loved that joke. His laughter is absolutely joyful, to say the least. So pure and enthusiastic.  
He looks to Jack with readiness to be of service- to make people happy, to ease burdens. The Irishman knows that in the way he takes wary glances in Jack's direction if something may have potentially affected him.

They're minute, but they're there.  
Between moments and between heartbeats, the lovably squishy brunet casts his eyes towards Jack.

Matt is a different story; his wayward gaze talks of mirth and entertainment.  
The blonde house member is an enigma in the way he can be the most welcoming but also hostile. There's sneakiness in his movements- none of which seem uncalculated. He's like the Petyr Baelish of the house, Jack compares. And he loves him.

 

He loves all of them.

 

Jack blinks owlishly at nothing. He shuts off the water to towel his hair.

 

Could it be? Is he not only infatuated with Mark, but also in love with the the idea of living with people? Having someone there?  
With luck, upon his return, he could maybe try to contact that Jason kid from nights and nights ago.

There's a thought he that hasn't graced his mind in a while.

 

But he can't go back to living alone.

Not anymore.

He'll even give up late nights and privacy and move back to his old cabin with his parents, if that meant not having to wake up to silence.  
Cold mugs on the cupboard, the temperature always being exactly how he wants it, some anchor on the news filling up the empty space with reports about bee populations... He can't handle that anymore.

 

Annoying chatter, dishes clacking haphazardly, foreign music he's never heard of playing in tinny laptop speakers from across the couch... These are the sounds he likes.

Snoring dampened by walls in the evening, dog barking, cat meowing, blender at 2 AM.

If Jack thinks hard, they all sound alike to home.

 

 

"Ready?"

He turns too fast and his wet green hair slaps him across the forehead. Mark laughs, hardy.  
"Don'sneak up on me like that." He picks at his bangs to pry them off his skin. Discomfort sounds plain on his voice.

 

Anyone could tell in the way that Mark puffed out his chest that he was trying to make up for the gall he truly lacks. His nails scratched the wood of the doorframe; Jack's skin tingles with longing to be the friction under his touch.

The bravado only thinly veiled his apprehension- something Jack is too tired now to reject expression of. He wonders if that made him the mature of the two.

 

"Are you mad?"  
The redhead steps forward, hitching Jack's luggage on his shoulder. The Irishman tried to bat his hands away, reassuring that he can handle it, but he supposes he can allow Mark the opportunity to do something nice.

"No." Jack tells the truth. "We're adults. Life is no fantasy."

 

Blue eyes look to brown, but they don't return the favor. Instead, the floor soaks up Mark's attention.  
"I guess."

"I guess." Jack agrees. Solemn. Sober. "So Ryan-"

"Can I take you to the airport alone?"

 

Jack didn't even realize he had practically barked instead of asking calmly why until he saw the surprised look on Mark's features. To think he had beaten Jack to the punch.  
"I want to say goodbye to them too."

"You can say goodbye to them here."

"Don't be selfish."   
Yikes.  
Where did that come from, Jack wonders inward. He's almost afraid Mark might take offense. But also he doesn't care. But also he's afraid that he doesn't care.

Jack's head begun to hurt.

 

A hand quickly grabbed his shoulder, bracing him. "H-Hey...!"

"I'm okay." Jack told a lie. Hastily, as if he can outrun his fib with more words, he added, "I actually- I think... I want you to stay here."

 

'Heartbroken' doesn't even begin to encompass the expression that breaks Mark's carefully crafted stoicism into pieces.

As if building a front, he carefully places Jack's luggage back on the ground with trembling shoulders.  
Before the older could start something, and so late in the day too, Jack supplies- "Let's not make this harder than it has t'be." 

It's an honest and reasonable thing to ask, but inside, he knows he's practically asking for the world and more.

To save himself the ache of watching Mark's face fall even more, he caught him in his arms.  
For the first time in a long time, Jack felt no words needed to be shared then. No actions had to be defended- at least not right now.

 

However, it was apparent that Mark didn't share that sentiment. Jack could feel him tense underneath his fingertips- breath catching and all.

 

But he slumped in defeat. Jack won't change his mind.

So he said "I love you." in a slurred mumble.  
Any other person might ask him to repeat that, but Jack just understood with perfect clarity. The vibrations of the words moved between them, like conductors.

And Jack- he wished he could feel the sparks.  
Instead, he felt the fizzed out burning, like fire running out of kindle... like love running out of reasons to be.

 

Before the Irishman's mind could even fully digest the declaration, Mark continued,  
"You don't have to say it back." The hand on Jack's hip patted him gently, thumb moving tracing circles on the skin there. The gesture was familiar now to him.

 

Despite the acid-like panic starting to rise in Jack's throat, the serenity of the moment didn't waver. Mark seemed perfectly content in Jack's lack of a response, surprisingly. The thumb's gentle pad continued to make lines.

 

Thus the world fell silent as Mark and Jack went through the motions of falling in love. As humans do. As it is most human to feel.

 

As it is most human to love.

 

Not to alienate aces and aros.  
There has always been more than just romance.

There is the love that blooms between trust, and family, and camaraderie...  
And sometimes there is love whose derivation is unfounded. The turning point of "friendship" to something significantly more is unbeknownst and, furthermore, neglected.

Because it didn't matter how.  
It was just that they are.

 

But like seasons, feelings can change; they often do.  
Tomorrow, when Jack is back resting on his sheets that smell like pine wood and cold air, will Mark still be on the forefront of his mind? How about next week? In 4 months time? 20 years from now?

He briefly entertained the idea of voicing out his concerns- communicating like normal, healthy people do. But saying he loved Mark on the way to leave him felt like a cop out- a tease, a cliffhanger, and Mark deserved better than an empty promise of forever.

 

The words suffocated him then.

 

As if able to sense that anxiety, Mark pulled him closer, pressing his mouth to Jack's forehead. When had the room been this warm?  
The shorter of the two could feel his lips move as he spoke,

"You don't have to say it back." He repeated, this time softer, more gentle.

 

 

As the pair drifted off to silence, wound up in each other's embrace, Jack didn't anything more.

 

And Mark pretended as if that didn't break his heart.

And Jack pretended like he didn't know that.

 

The car was being started up outside, ready to depart.


	52. Guilt (Part II)

The Los Angeles city-scape, blurred beyond comprehension, bathed in daytime atmosphere, was enchanting to say the least.

It was like a spell had been cast, and Jack was enraptured in an overly-sentimental review of the past few days. His lower lip was all but raked raw by his teeth- a habit that spelled out anxiety in big, bold letters.

Still, it was apparent he wasn't the only fidgety individual in the vehicle.

 

There was the smell of cigarettes that came off of Ryan's clothes. Everyone knows about his dirty habit, but Jack realized he hadn't caught a whiff of smoke up until now. Had it been the closed space, or had Ryan been genuinely feeling distressed in the last 30 minutes?

 

The scent of nicotine wasn't matted by open air too- it was fresh and strong and it made Jack's nose wrinkle. He kept silent about that matter, instead diverting his attention to Matt who kept easy conversation.

Jack wrote the last of his text messages, pocketing his phone then. He tweeted out some short-but-sweet expressions of gratitude for the people he had interacted with recently. Walsh was a top priority, being the first he had subtweeted. Some part of the Irishman kind of hoped Mark would catch that- maybe do something about it- anything, just to incite a reaction.

On the other hand, hope was a dangerous thing- like a vice, with no redemption nor substitute.

Guiltily, Jack played with the hem of his shirt. He should be better than this; but he knows he's not.

 

With hesitance, Jack cast his blue eyes towards Ryan, driving, eyes glazed over from the mid-day sun and wondered what Ryan and Mark had been talking about before the car's brakes had been shifted.

He climbed aboard before anyone else did and watched the two speak in hushed voices. Jack wished he could pull and Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible and read lips at that moment. From behind the car window, Jack watched Mark's mouth form words that were careful and deliberate. Ryan's tense shoulders told Jack as much.

The brunette then disappeared into the house for a short moment- it must have been when he had pumped his lungs full of smoke, Jack thinks.

 

The only silver lining was that Matt was probably also in the dark. The blond had been loading up the trunk while that ordeal was going on.

And yet, if he did know, Jack wouldn't be surprised. Ryan and Matt could probably communicate telepathically for all he knew. Plus, by the way Watson was speaking, it was apparent he was hellbent on being a distraction. The pauses between sentences were too short, so full of haste.

 

Matt continued his spiel about a comedy show, relaying with due enthusiasm skits that were played out.

 

Jack smiled.

At least they were trying to comfort their friend.

 

Had Jack been alone with his thoughts, surely, he'd be bawling by this point. He feels a clench in his gut that tells him that he's still hankering to release that negative energy in due time. But not now.

Now was a time of celebration and high anticipation for Jack's safe return to Ireland and subsequently, eventual return to LA.

 

From beyond the horizon, he could see an airplane beginning it's decent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Hey."

Jack blinked; he had never seen Ryan so devoid of emotion. His luggage was in the brunette's grasp- strained, and he could see veins run up the back of his hand. "Yeah?"

Ryan looked away, his gaze fixed on Matt, some feet away, paying for a cart. His long limbs were equally stunted- ungraceful and intentionally slow. So maybe Matt did know something was up. Jack felt childish irritation that he was so out of the loop.

He coughed, prompting Ryan to invite him to his world- colored with knowledge that Jack is desperately grabbing for.

It was obvious that whatever Ryan had been debating about on the drive was something Jack really needed to hear...

Or really needed not to hear...

 

"Mark..." He bit his cheek. "Mark wanted me to give you something."

"Oh."

Jack thinks back to Mark's form, leaning against the wall outside of the house- despondent and closed-off. There was still a smile on his face, however sad. He had made no move to give Jack anything- so Jack was obviously surprised to know that he wanted to.

After they parted in Jack's temporary room (which is now just the guest room, he thinks with a broken heart), Mark was obedient and kept out of Jack's way. He stood in the background as Jack cooed at the pets in the house. There was probably animal hair on his jacket, now that Jack thinks about it.

He looks down self-consciously and picks at a blonde hair on his chest.

 

Ryan stepped closer- a short breadth apart now. Jack felt small.

"And he told me it was up to my discretion whether or not to give it to you." From this close, Jack could clearly identify the smell of smoke from Ryan's exhale, which blew over the pale skin of Jack's face with gentleness.

He made no move to step back, though. Jack felt strangely glued to the spot- like the next words were precious and he had to somehow be as attentive as he humanly could. Else, Ryan wouldn't be playing it up so much.

 

 

In the hustle and bustle of the airport terminal- full of families and lovers and friends and businesses... Jack heard Matt's footsteps. It was surreal. He could hear them approach, a certain presence rearing up behind him. The sound of squeaky cart wheels pierced the Irishman's ears.

 

Jack broke eye contact for only a short moment to greet Matt. In that short moment, an item was thrust into his hand. The green-haired man rolled it around in his touch- it was solid and full of sharp edges.

Jack resisted the temptation to look at his palm, especially under Ryan's cold stare that he met when he looked back.

"I'm giving this to you... not because I think you and Mark are..." he fumbles for the world briefly, "...made for each other. There's no such thing as one true love, y'know."

 

Jack knows.

 

"Relationships need work a-and compromise. You need to communicate and understand each other. Commitment." The words, however earnest, felt like fire to Jack's ears. A certain weight befell the Irishman- it hurt down in his very soul, pulling where he needed to be pushed, and pushing where need pull.

Jack felt hot tears prick the corner of his eyes. He didn't need to be called-out like this, not here in a public space.

"I'm sorry, but it's true." Ryan murmured. His breath stuttered.

 

"We're giving it to you because we think you deserve a chance to make a decision for yourself."

Jack broke from his petrified state, whipping around to see Matt, leaning over the luggage cart. He was marginally less serious than Ryan- if his relaxed composure was anything to go by. "Mark told me about it a little bit before he told Ryan. You were in the shower." He shrugged, but it was more like a shoulder roll.

 

As if drawn by the action, Jack mimicked it. There was a weariness that settled between his shoulders that he hadn't realized was there. He feels incredibly tired all of a sudden.

 

He looked down.

A red USB was in his open palm, and it glowed under the florescent light overhead.

 

Jack's gut lurched with fear of what could be inside. Yet, he was too bereft of energy to pursue an answer. He pocketed it, inside the one without his phone.

 

 

He forced a smile. The pull on the corners of his mouth felt heavy. "Take care."

"Take care." Ryan echoed, his smile serene but joyful, as if prompting Jack to express the same.

 

As if only being aware of their close proximity now, he took a step back, sheepish. Jack was having none of that. He enveloped him in an embrace- harder than the one he shared with Mark, such that he was practically trembling with emotions.

If his face couldn't show it, his body would at least do the pleasure.

 

This must be what the animators patterned Baymax after- Ryan was like a big teddy bear. Jack grins. "Thank you."

 

 

There's a wet smack on his cheek. Jack pulls back.

Ryan looked alarmed, mouth in a small 'o'. As if catching himself, the brunette curled up on himself. Bashfulness painted him a soft pink, seeing as he was simply carried away.

Hurried sorry's were scattered in the air like confetti. Jack laughed, hearty now to his surprise, and returned to the favor with a small peck on his cheek.

 

Stubble made his raw raps hurt, but Ryan's red face was enough to make up for the tiny discomfort.

 

A finger tapped Jack's shoulder, with Matt being the owner of that digit. The Irishman jutted his hip with a cocky smirk and a raised brow. Matt only pouted- now he was the one out of the loop. He had wheeled the cart a little ways to the left.

 

After rolling his eyes dramatically, Jack chuckled and opened his arms to receive Matt, a little freer in his chest than before.

 

 

But instead of a pair of hands finding the small of his back, slender fingers captured his jaw.

 

Jack could only stand and stare as Matt attacked Jack's mouth with his own. Matt's lips were wet, and kiss deep, as his tongue licked the inside of Jack's cheek. And Jack, he did all he could but squeak loudly.

It wasn't like he couldn't  _not_ attract attention though- Matt's sloppy, wet sounds turned a few heads in their direction.

 

But he didn't really care, Jack found.

 

When Matt parted, he just patted Jack's cheek with flippant casualty as if he hadn't been making out with him just 2 seconds before. He's a weird guy, and Jack accepted that.

 

 

 

The USB in his pocket suddenly carried with it a gravity previously unbeknownst. Jack felt his knees buckle with that recognition of weight.

With any luck, hopefulness was in it in on form or another. Maybe some semblance of comfort or promise.

 

 

Home. A capacity to feel home lay with 1's and 0's.

With hope.

With guilty hope.

 

 

 

Matt's fingertips, which retreated from Jack's cheek, were home. He wished the atoms wouldn't be so far apart.

Ryan's tired but amused expression were home. He wished he could always be here to be seen by him in this way.

The dog hair on his jacket was home. He wished it would always be covered in it.

But he knew the traces of beasts would be gone upon the next laundry day.

 

 

 

Mark was home.

 

 

 

Jack looks towards the crowd.

The people who had stopped to stare at the two men caught in a lip lock had moved on, and Jack wishes he could do the same. Some part of him guiltily wishes Mark had forgone his promise and somehow caught up the trio.

He'd be here with his hair messy and breaths labored, a bouquet in one hand, and a declaration of forever on his lips.

 

But no one was waiting for him around the corner, Jack realized, watching face without names move about the space he was confined in.

 

 

He looked to Matt and Ryan- then at the space between the two.

 

"It's time to go home." One said- Jack wasn't paying attention to which one. He just nodded instead.

But Jack knew- he knew in his bones- that he was actually leaving home.


	53. Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark's USB.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is... hm, it'll rock your world. haha.

Before Jack had blinked, he was still in the Los Angeles airport- Matt’s taste on his tongue and the smell of Ryan’s cigarettes in his lungs.

After, he was in his lonely room back in Ireland.

 

He had cried and cried once the door behind him locked- from heartbreak, exhaustion, fulfillment, trepidation, rage… It was entire spectrum of emotions that he cried through.

The pale skin around his eyes showed an angry, inflamed red. His eyes were even more bloodshot and bleary. The inside of his throat felt dry from all the wailing and maybe- just maybe, he can put off work for another day.

 

And yes, he knows that it’ll give him hell to catch up. He’s exhausted his stockpile in due time and he wasn’t quite ready to get his head back into the game so soon.

He was a goddamn adult, and he can take care of himself- at least that was what he was quietly chanting to himself. Maybe repetition would make it genuine, he thinks.

 

Likewise, maybe continually imagining that a red USB wasn’t on his dresser would make it so that it really wasn’t.

Alas, the shade of red looked angry and accusatory. It beckoned attention. Jack wanted to spit on it.

 

 

He was just in his boxers now- having forgone jeans sometime in the night after tossing and turning uncomfortably. The Irishman was still bundled up in his jacket though- it’s warmth was an inviting embrace compared to the cold, almost sterile, stillness of his room for one.

 

The dog hair was, yes, still there. Jack picked at one of the hairs, feeling another nauseating wave of tears form at the back of his eyes.

It was hard to breath- and he didn’t mean metaphorically, he means his sinuses were clogged from the incessant bawling. He sniffed unhappily then, patting his dresser for the tissue box he kept there.

Briefly, his hand brushed cold metal- from the USB- and it practically burned him. Jack continued to scour for some tissues, irritation emanating from his body in waves.

 

No.

Not now. He won’t do it.

He could try, at least, to save face and not jump at the very thought of a future with Mark in some capacity or another. But what was there left to compromise for? Running through his thoughts labelled “maybe”, there were a handful of ideas to ‘make it work’ but none were practical nor cheap.

He was an adult and he had to prioritize the right things.

As much as it pains Jack to say it aloud, he knows Mark isn’t one of things he should be prioritizing anyways.

 

The curiosity gnawed at him, slowly- starting from his toes and slowly making its way up Jack’s spine. He felt diseased all of a sudden. It wouldn’t do him good to vomit the contents of his stomach now, however- that of which consisted of airplane peanuts he stowed away in his bag and 2 beers he chugged in the midst of wet hiccups.

 

Miserable, Jack finds himself.

 

 

 

At that moment, he decided on a to-do list (one that didn’t involve Mark this time).

Neither Ryan nor Matt had given him instructions regarding the USB- whether he had to review it right away or when he was ready. So Jack settled on the latter.

He has to fix himself before he could see what was inside. Fix himself, basically. Stand on his own two feet. Be in the right mind…

A time before he discovered bourbon_neat… before a familiar-sounding voice whispered lewd, intimate things in his ear. Jack shivered.

 

First order of business was to get a new phone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“-AND I’LL SEE YOU… IN THE NEXT VIDEO!”

Jack maintained his grin for a good moment before he shut off the capture. Slumping in his chair, he went through the usual routine of making sure the recording was… well, recorded.

Finding everything in order, the Youtube leaned back with easy relaxation. Between his shoulders, a dull ache was present, but he could live. It wasn’t debilitating in any way, so he could survive.

Jack blew a wisp of hair away from his eyes.

 

He’s been thinking of getting his hair re-dyed. The playback showed Jack that his hair had faded into a soft green. The corners of his lips twitched unhappily. He likes it bright and neon, he decides, mentally noting to schedule an appointment at the salon.

Mark had opted to move away from that phase of his life. Strangely enough, he asked for Jack’s permission first. That Skype call was, to say the least, unexpected.

The pair had fallen back into a subdued, and slightly awkward, “friendship” a few days after the Irishman returned to the homeland. It was full of tense silences and checking each other’s faces for clues.

 

Mark didn’t pry on the USB.

Jack didn’t ask.

It was still on the dresser where he laid it weeks and weeks ago- untouched, but not ignored.

 

 

Jack had discovered somewhere between 20 and 10 days ago (he’s having a hard time keeping track of time), that the space where Mark and Jack’s ethics and personalities overlap is very minimal.

It’s a strange feeling, realizing how little he knows about his… his friend… out of public knowledge. Understandably, when your life is broadcasted in open air, it’s difficult to find what’s genuine about yourself (and not just a projection of what fans want to see you as).

 

He considers the possibility that maybe his whole ordeal on sexuality was just a sort of placebo effect- months and almost years of finding dissections of his online behavior on tumblr. All of them chalked up to be about his identity, no less- not like anyone would really know.

 

Not even Jack, maybe.

 

 

 

The red USB haunts him.

 

 

He gets up to do the dishes (which consists of two plates, a spoon, and a potato peeler).

 

Jack hates being alone now.

He thinks about possibly getting a dog, as he observes the soapy shine the dishwater gives his fingernails- bitten to the bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finding out about Ken’s imminent fatherhood rocks the foundations of Jack’s world.

Truly, if anyone was going to ease into family life first, it was going to be Morrison. Felix was too high up in the ranks to do anything except work his ass of and spark controversies. Mark and himself were in similar situations-

 

But they had an out.

Or at least a bigger out than Felix could ever have.

 

Jack stares blankly at the announcement via Twitter- and he wonders what a baby, swaddled in cloth, would look like in his arms. Would it feel like it belonged there? Or would it seem alien?

Like it wasn’t something meant to happen?

 

 

Something primal wrenches the cavity between his lungs. It felt like anger- but it washed through his body like shame.

 

If the emotion were a color…

Jack thinks it would be the same as the red of the USB that still lay untouched.

 

 

Jack halts- his breathing, his blinking…

 

He refused to give Mark the burden of an empty promise of forever before.

Quietly, wonders if Mark would (or rather- had) had the tact to do the same.

If Mark was a thoughtful and considerate human being, he would have alleviated Jack of the crippling plague of hopeless longing.

 

For what seemed like the umpteenth time ever since his feet set foot on Irish soil, Jack wonders what kind of person Mark really is underneath all the restraint and inhibition… behind the Youtube personality and the watching eyes…

 

 

Was that Mark the same one that Jack fell in love with?

Or did the concept overpower the essence?

 

Jack turned over the USB in his hand that night- feeling the weight. That of which, was ridiculous- the weight of words don’t show through the weight of the object.

He brushed his newly-dyed green hair (he opted for something darker- a change of pace) away from his eyes. His baby blues were dry at that moment- a small miracle unto itself.

 

 

He considered going to a doctor; maybe he could get something to help him sleep better, or something to calm him down.

Yet, Jack knows (even despite what Tumblr analysis will claim at) that there’s no disorder gnawing at his veins. He is just mourning, he admits to himself after he trims his beard at 3 AM on a Wednesday- and there’s nothing wrong with that, nor is there anything wrong with something clinical.

 

 

There’s a bottle of Nyquil in his fridge- but he’s becoming immune.

So he closes his eyes, in complete, encompassing darkness, and truly doesn’t know if he slept at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ethan was a bundle of joy. Tyler was… Tyler was cool. And a little scary, but Jack already knew that.

 

Of course, he was positively crushed to find the editors moving out of the house.

If Jack had cried, only his bed would know. His dreams were destroyed- sue him. He could hold himself and still be a mature adult about it. He gave his best wishes as soon as his hiccups died down.

 

In a private DM, Matt (who had never made contact since their kiss) expressed that the idea to edit for the Grumps sparked after his sleepover at the Berhow-Hansons.

So it was Jack’s fault, he thought.

 

At least they seemed happy.

 

Would Mark’s home still sound like home? Would the tenants of the house fit into the space left behind by the former seamlessly? Jack thinks not.

Ethan is quite short. Tyler- a fucking behemoth of a man.

But let’s not kid ourselves: the question was- were they better? Was Mark having a better time?

 

 

…Mark told him he was feeling good- feeling alright.

 

It must have shown on Jack’s face- through the Skype chat- that the question was on his tongue. They spent the rest of the minutes before Mark’s scheduled dentist appointment in complete silence.

It wasn’t awkward- but it was definitely tense.

 

Like they were both waiting for the other to say something.

 

 

It’s been approximately 7 weeks since they last touched. Maybe he should open up that USB by now- but he’s afraid. Mark doesn’t say anything and bids an adieu with a soft smile eventually.

 

Jack pulls his queue up to make sure it’s well-stocked before he curls up in his bed and cries.

Trust him, he’s tried to breach the topic, but his breath freezes and his lungs go on the verge of collapsing.

 

He’s not ready to know.

But maybe he will be, eventually.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Eventually’ turns out to be several weeks farther along the line.

The contents of the USB- unnamed in his computer- was collected under a folder “For Sean”.

 

Briefly, Jack wonders if the use of his real name meant anything- if Mark had the consciousness to make a difference between Jack (the online personality) and Sean (the person). But then again, they were practically the same person and again, Jack was probably projecting.

 

He curses himself internally. He’s been doing so good for the past weeks.

 

Inside the folder are more folders. To be honest, Jack would have been equally surprised if it was just a video of Gangnam Style.

It wasn’t like he had any prior guesses as to what it could be.

 

 

Well, that’s a lie.

 

It’s practically been half a year since he got the goddamn USB- he’s been coming up with some theories. None of them were worth speculating over, though. 1, because Jack hates being hopeful now, and 2, because the answer to his questions were always in arm’s reach.

He was just too much of a coward to know.

 

 

 

Maybe he should stop here- cursor dragged over a folder “Good times”. Potentially, Jack could pretend that this was a gesture of love and be content in a happy limbo of Mark’s love and life’s reality.

 

 

He clicked it anyways.

 

 

 

The first thing that catches his eye in the list of audio files is one called “For subscriber milestne”. He notices it first because of the misspelling- a rushed action- an urgency to make the files, Jack dubs it.

 

 

_“O…Oh my god!”_

Jack hearts stutters. His ears flush. He already knows what this is by the way Mark tries his best to sound genuinely eager. Still, there’s tiredness in his voice- overwork.

_“I can’t believe you did it! Actually, wait- I actually do!” His tone shifts, serene and loving, “You’re so amazing. You deserve everything you’ve achieved and more! Don’t say you don’t. You’ve worked so hard for thi-”_

 

Jack slams his spacebar- halting Mark’s virtual words.

He scrambles for his mouse.

 

_“Wh-Whaaaat? That’s insane! What a great opportunity! Who would’ve known that… that company picked you up? But you know what, it’s about time. You’ll do so good! Don’t forget me when you become an even bigger hot shot, okay?” Jack clicks away at the crescendo of Mark’s laughter._

_“Right?! It’s so cool that they gave birth now? What is it? A boy or a girl? Hmph, they’ll be great parents no matter what. You’ll be an even better role model for them, too. Don’t screw them up too bad, oka-”_

He clicks at another folder.

_“I’m… sorry to hear about their death. Please know that they lived a happy life. Anyone who knows you would feel blessed for exi-”_

And another one.

 

_“Have I mentioned how much I love your eyes? Buckle in, this is gonna be a 20-minute rant, okay? They’re just-”_

_“Congratula-”_

_“I’m so sorry for what I di-”_

_“I can’t believe y-”_

 

Jack’s ears were ringing.

 

For a while, he thought it was because of the headache beginning to form at his temples, but then he took note of the anguished sobbing he was currently belting out like a song. It was as if his broken notes could be a beacon and call out to someone- anyone, who could listen to his troubles.

But there was nobody but himself.

 

Himself, and Mark’s voice.

 

One soundbite for every possible, typical moment… To keep Jack company, to remind him of how much Mark loves him, to soothe his hurt feelings…

 

 

In a way, it was a revolution.

Not the political kind- not one of change… rather, revolving motions… REVOL-ution…

Because at the end, Jack is at the beginning.

 

 

 

Suspended now, in a fantasy where Mark’s guides him to a prospect of togetherness.

 

 

 

Smart move, Jack had to admit, as he furious rubbed his checks with his now-damp sleeve. The fabric made his skin itch and hot.

It was an offer. Jack had all but screamed (his neighbors will worry, and honestly they have every right to- he’s losing his mind).

It’s a deal- a negotiation- like… some kind of agreement.

 

This was Mark’s half of a compromise- a way to fulfill an aspect of Jack’s longing for a relationship… just without an actual person to be in a relationship with.

 

It was as if Mark was a ghost, and his voice talks from fragments of memories that don’t exist- that may never exist.

 

 

 

Jack doesn’t like being pitied.

He’s learned to develop a sense of self-worth recently. He deserves a little more than just this…

The Irishman gets up and punches the wall to his left from frustration.

…empty promise of forever.

 

 

…This substitute for the real thing.

 

 

He doesn’t need a bourbon_neat, or a substitute- a fake Mark from a fantasy…

 

 

 

 

 Jack wants a real person in his life.

Whoever that may be. He understands that now.

 

 

He deletes the contents of the red USB, but keeps the shell of the treasure as a trophy.

 

 

 

Jack leaves Mark a message- it’s late in LA right now- and tells him he wants to commit…

…no matter what it takes.

 

 

 


	54. Swan Song [END]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been great ya'll.  
> Still somehow the most viewed(?) and kudos'd work under the septiplier AO3 tag- and i still don't know why. But it's definitely made me feel blessed to reach such a wide audience. I hope ya'll have learned lessons through my works... I bid you all adieu and blessed life, filled with feelings meant to be felt and words meant to be spoken aloud.
> 
> God bless.

With practiced motion, Matt places a small metal object in his hand. Jack already knew what was inside it, but still felt the need to ask- just in case he was wrong.

 

The brunet (he outgrew his blond, and Jack has to admit he misses the sunshine tresses that cropped his long face) looks unimpressed.

  
  
  


It’s been half a year since Jack has “moved on”.

 

Yes, those are in quotation marks because that’s what they are- a quote, but not a reality. Felix was definitely a big plus (quite like the flag of his country, Jack laughs to himself- yellow cross in his mind). The Swede had agreed to amp up their onscreen chemistry- even sharing a kiss during a livestream.

  
That was an awkward agreement to mouth off about.

 

More so in the presence of Marzia.

  
  


Praise the sky, the couple hadn’t tried to pry too hard on why Jack asked for this… favor of sorts. It wasn’t so much like a favor because Felix definitely got a more attentive audience after Jelix set sail.

It was just inconvenient. A messier tag feed, more hate mail and cameras in your face. There was even a daunting fear that perhaps Jack might start to develope feelings for Felix too. The fear got his blood running hot in his veins.

 

Gladly, and despite admittedly sexually-tense outings (they were good friends even without the contract), Jack could only see his friend… as a friend.

 

It hurt too, though.

Because it only made his infatuation with Mark more apparent.

  
  


It was embarrassing as hell too!

The look- that fucking look Mark gave him when a fan pointed out the red USB tied around his neck like jewelry. That empty trophy of his got pulled out from beneath the cotton of his shirt during his mad dash to pump up the crowd by doing laps around the venue.

 

His sweat was tinted green from his fresh dye, and his face was red from both exertion and panic. Jack looked like Christmas.

But it certainly didn’t feel like Christmas.

 

  
No one had any idea what the item in question was about, but Mark- Mark looked… Jack doesn’t really know. Shocked. A little taken aback, but subdued.

 

That unknown positively crushed him.

  
  


It made him feel ashamed; it was like Mark was genuinely surprised that Jack still had leftover feelings after being so rejected.

Granted, he was formally rejected per se- his redhead coworker had agreed to a secretive relationship where he would be open to doing romantic and even sexual practices- just so that it wasn’t binding- he could have an out.

  
  


It was a fancy way of saying “fuckbuddies”.

But it was all Mark had left to give.

  
  


Jack understood that bit- the work, the stress, the fandom… it wears your patience thin. You don’t the time to romance and commit and think about domesticity.

  
  


Plans for a puppy were always thought about in his quiet moments- the companionship would be appreciated. Maybe a nice cactus would have the same effect.

  
  


But Jack couldn’t roll with that. He told himself-

He starts to get mad just thinking about it. The Irishman would promptly down drops of Jaeger- sweet on his tongue and hard on his throat.

-he told himself he would wait until Mark was ready to pursue something more substantial.

  
  
  


At the time, it seemed noble of him to wait as long as it would take. Yet, just a few goddamn months of watching Mark interact with fans and… and the way he lets Tyler sit too close or he runs his hand down Ethan’s back…

That reflection of a feminine form behind his monitor.

That girl he took a selfie with, where their shoulders touched, and someone said they looked good together.

That person who kissed his cheek after giving him a gift during a meetup, the fan lining up behind them had snapped some pics.

  
  


Jealousy isn’t a good feeling.

It didn’t matter that it was for the cameras. It still made Jack mad and made time move sluggish in his watch.

 

It was starting to show in his videos too- this… this lethargy in his form. So yeah, he fucking boosted his views by fanservicing with Felix.

Sue him- this is his livelihood.

He’d suck that man’s dick if only to fortify his future. He supposes he’s simply not done growing up, and he’ll just have to find some way to navigate himself from this hell he’s wrought upon himself.

 

Jack already predicts him- Mark’s future with someone else. He shouldn’t have to wait this long if Mark really wanted him, arms linked together.

Still, that knowledge does nothing to deter the longing he’s had- and maybe always will have. Maybe even while he’s with someone else.

 

The desperate machine he’s become makes Jack want to vomit.

  
  
  
  
  


Conversely, when Matt said he was 2 minutes away from arriving in Dublin- Jack felt bile climb up his throat.

  
  
  
  
  


Bless Uber, though.

  
  
  


Jack slumps then, squeezing the USB in his hand. Is this Mark’s idea of a second chance? A plea for reconsideration? The thought pulled something in his gut.

With airy laughter, Jack asked, “Does Mark sell these now or something? How many copies does he have?”

 

The man in front of him actually looked confused.

 

“Just yours and mine.” Matt elaborated as if he wasn’t completely fucking Jack over.

  
  


Somehow, his composure revealed nothing- all flippant casualty and perhaps even indifference. Matt Watson was about as transparent as a concrete wall. Maybe 10 concrete walls, all lined up. His shoulders were rising and falling at a steady, noticeable up-and-down. It was so mechanical that it had to be forced, Jack thought. Either that, or maybe Matt is some sort of cyborg.

 

That would surely explain his weirdness. Who the fuck shows up unannounced from LA to Ireland?

 

Maybe he just glossed over some human etiquette pamphlets when he was learning how to integrate into humanity.

Jack smiles at the prospect.

  
  


The Irishman turned the memory stick over in his hands, fingers grazing at the edges. It wasn’t the same color as before; it was black- secretive and inconspicuous, and nothing like the searing, demanding red that radiated off of the first copies.

Matt supplied some more information, “I thought it was a nice gesture. You seem like you need it.”

 

“In what way?” Hope to God that Matt was just making blank cheques. Had someone in tumblr caught on? The thought fills him with dread.

 

“Mark’s thinking about settling down.” Matt coughs. “With someone.”

  
  
  


“Ah.” Long hours of pep talks in the mirror and self-help podcasts has prepared him to handle this situation. It still hurt though. But knowing it hurt was the most painful sensation of all. Jack veers the conversation elsewhere, “Does Mark know you’re giving me this?”

  
  


Matt hummed, seemingly deep in thought. But the smirk on his face was genuine and playful,

“What do you think?”

 

“I think I’m tired of playing games.” He meant it to sound more rough, more serious- but instead, the words formed into tired waves. Learning that Mark has committed now to someone… someone more convenient to be in a relationship with (at least that’s what he hopes, and not… he shivers, someone Mark loves more than Jack) it readies him for a 20-year slumber.

He’s done playing- and he hopes Matt understands that too. 

  
  


“I think you’re no fun.”

 

So maybe Matt is some sort of merciless robot.

  
  
  


Jack squares his shoulders then- removes the slouch of his spine. He can’t look intimidating height-wise, Matt is built like a tree, but he has facial hair and thick eyebrows and that’s an advantage over Twinky McGee over here.

 

Oh fuck.

  
  


The stupid little nickname sends him into a coughing fit. His inhales had skidded down his throat. Eyes were wading in saltwater, as blue as the irises themselves.

  
  


“Mark doesn’t know, alright? I… I don’t think I will tell him. Unless you want me to? I don’t know. What do you want?”

The question has been on the forefront of Jack’s mind for a while now. What does he want out of this? Right now, he could really go for some lunch.

 

Before he can interrupt, the blond only seems to talk faster, “And what the fuck was up with deleting it in the first place? He worked all night, non-stop for that! It’s the best that he could do, you know that he loves you! I mean, yes… yes yes yes…”

  
  


He just continued like that, rambling off ‘yes’s under his breath. Jack contemplated maybe dialing 911 or something.

Matt intervened, clutching Jack’s wrist as he was about to dig into his pocket for his cellphone.

 

“It’s your decision. But you were just so simple and… I don’t know? Cold! You were so fucking cold about it, like ‘No, I won’t accept this’ and- and-”

 

Matt dry heaves.

The sound is painful to Jack’s ears. It must be his circuitry overheating- gears grinding up against each other in a way they weren’t built to.

  
  
  


As the Irishman takes note of how Matt seems absolutely distraught, almost-

Guilt makes Jack blanche.

 

“Why did you want Mark and I to be together in the first place?”

  
  
  


Matt seemed taken aback…

 

Heartbroken.

That’s how he looks.

 

“Because… because happy Mark means better commentary and better commentary means more views, and mo-”

“Stop that.” He’s heard this spiel before- but had it sounded so… rehearsed before? “What’s the real reason?”

  
  


The possible-cyborg only blinked. Had it not been for the color that was drained from his face, he would have seemed unperturbed.

“You know why.” He answers faintly. “And if you don’t, then you can figure it out yourself.”

  
  


A thought- rather, a vision, suddenly manifests and plays out before Jack's eyes, as prompted by Matt.

  
  


That night- the night before he had left… and what transpired that evening away from Jack and Mark's condom run at the convenience store.

  
  


Matt, arriving at Arin and Suzy's home, the couple being unaware to one of their guests' gloomy behaviour, but being accommodating nonetheless.

Matt, numb yet hurting. Matt, being so acutely aware of what the walls in their house would be subjected to- Mark having sex... making love.. with someone he genuinely cares about. Sexual tension giving way to throes of passion- the grinding of sweaty bodies- the elopement of two people desperately trying to get inside each other, carnal and intense and consuming like fire.

 

Matt... dreading to come home, clutching onto Ryan's sleeve, trying to be strong as he turned the home key.

 

...Matt yelling, shouting at his boss as Jack's ears were awash in the white noise of water hitting the tiled floor as it ran down his body. The blond (then) had demanded to know why he had just left him- why Mark hadn't given Jack the love he deserves. That of which is an opportunity that he himself had tried so hard to pave the way for- suffered so hard to allow…

  
  


The grip of Jack’s wrist does not waver.

  
  


_ Latent urgencies _

_ stolen glances _

_ caught feelings _

 

... that was Matt's reality, under the thumb of a lover he wished to have and hold, but instead slaved over- slaved for.

 

The editor must have been pining so hard- forced to sit for about 14 hours a day, editing raw footage of someone he just wanted to look at him the same way he looked at... well, Jack.

 

Counting freckles; duly taking notes of the twitches in his eyes- the wrinkles near his mouth.

  
  


It must have been hell.

  
  


And that would still be his reality had he not been brave (or was it cowardly?) enough to step down from his occupation.

  
  


Did Matt cry?

  
  


Did Ryan know?

Or had Matt given him another excuse as to why they would work now for the Grumps?

  
  


It wouldn't surprise Jack, he's got a sharp tongue- one that has been spinning lies for months and months now.

  
  


When the teen (Jack deflates... fuck... he's a teen. He's just a kid.) looked at his room then- vacant of his belongings, had he gotten down on his knees and bawled?

 

Like he had been praying to God?

 

Like a dog that has been robbed of his meal?

 

Like a beggar on the streets, unfortunate and undeserving... just hoping for a glimmer of hope, or love.

  
  
  


Everything seemed so far away.

The calculating quality in Matt's eyes was coldness and not apprehension. It was silent suffering and not indifference that had closed up his throat and made his bones stiff.

 

It was… It was Matt this entire time. Not Jack who had been carelessly and foolishly running after something he didn’t quite understand, but wanted.

Matt was Mark’s ultimate victim. Cursed, somehow, just by knowing Mark- being in his space.

 

And knowing him, the collateral damage would not stop here either.

 

“When was the last time you had sex with Mark?”

 

“I’m sorry?!” Jack squeaked and looked around, hoping none of his neighbors, any of the tenants in his complex had overheard that. He knows some of them are fans of his- and that outburst may fuck him over.

 

“Because he… y’know he’s still open to have a beneficial relationship with you. He told me. Even if he settles with someone else for long-term.”

 

The irishman scrubs his face with his hand, “Just say fuckbuddies.” He chuckles a little bit. He would say yes, he knows.

Now that Jack knows for sure that it’s now definitely the best he will be able to get.

The idea of being a middleman in a twosome worries him, but he’d be lying if it didn’t stroke his ego to know that Mark still considers Jack’s disposition in his personal matters.

  
  
  
  


And that scares him.

Almost as much as the scent of cigarettes of Matt’s breath does.

  
  
  
  


People will always love- no… adore Mark- revere him. He’s got those qualities, those attributes, those things that people will always want for themselves. People would lie and forge and hurt others to just be subject to a glance- a wayward smile.

 

Dollars wasted, if only to capture a photograph where he’s in arm’s length.

Lives offered and dedicated to stroke his ego.

 

Words passed around like gentle, loving caresses to a statue- mighty and proud regardless of affection, standing atop the world. Everyone else would be basking in his shadow… feeling blessed to simply know his name.

  
  
  
  
  


A beacon of envy, Mark Fischbach is. Almost ruthless in his attractiveness. A snakebite of a man.

 

Merciless.

 

Devastating.

  
  


_ Heartbreaker, _ Jack trembles.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Do you still love Mark?”

 

“You know I do.”

  
  
  
  
  


And it does not matter who said what.

  
  
  


Between Jack and Matt, the beating of their hearts, the stillness of their lungs, the yearning in their souls…

 

...they sound alike.

  
  
  
  


One kissed the other- and neither of them were sure which one it was.


End file.
